


The Black Swan

by SingingSpringingLark



Series: Legends of Chivalry [4]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Attempted Fratricide, Broken Pedestals, Brotherly Love, Childhood Sweethearts, Chivalric Tales, Class Differences, Courage and Love, Defying Fate, Devoted Sibling, Envy and Jealousy, Family Secrets, Forbidden Love, Friendship/Love, Gen, Heroic Sacrifice, Heroism, Impossible Standards, In Media Res, Love and Duty, Lovebirds Separated, Misunderstandings, No One Left Unbroken, Obliviousness, Platonic Relationships, Secret Relationship, Sibling Rivalry, Survivor Guilt, Unreliable Narrator, court intrigue, death and despair, fear of failure, foregone conclusion, parental favouritism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 24,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23050645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingingSpringingLark/pseuds/SingingSpringingLark
Summary: Glenn Fraldarius had never asked or wished for a younger sibling. The fact that the baby in his mother’s belly stole away his parents’ affections before it was even born had soured Glenn towards the idea of sharing his parents with another child.He didn’t realize how much he wanted to be a big brother until the king placed the baby prince in his embrace. The dangerous frost that had began invading Glenn’s heart melted in the warmth of the little prince. And he would sit at Prince Dimitri’s crib and watch the infant babble and laugh, longing for the day his younger brother would be old enough to play with him.But then came Felix—a boy frailer than glass, yet so strong that he shook Glenn's world with his arrival like a titan.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Glenn Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Glenn Fraldarius, Glenn Fraldarius & Miklan Gautier, Glenn Fraldarius & Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, Glenn Fraldarius/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Kyphon & Loog (Fire Emblem), Kyphon & Pan (Fire Emblem), Loog/Pan (Fire Emblem), Sylvain Jose Gautier & Miklan
Series: Legends of Chivalry [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518593
Comments: 17
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part four of a six part series, but the stories can be read as standalone. Also, if something doesn't have a name in canon, expect me to give it a name.
> 
> This story is a companion piece to part one: [_Highborn Brothers_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21052964).

**W** hen Glenn and his brother were young, their mother used to sing to them about their ancestor: Sir Kyphon, the Lambent Blade; a knight so valorous that he was immortalized in legend and song.

Kyphon, Loog’s sworn friend; the legendary swordsman loved fame and glory like no other warrior, jumping at every opportunity to showcase his valour and skill. As soon he came of age, he left his home and journeyed the lands with his friend, seeking his fortune in the world beyond! For more than a decade and a half, they journeyed across the land—the Lion of the North and the Lambent Blade—protecting the weak and downtrodden and challenging the strong and unrighteous!

When the people of Faerghus needed a hero to deliver them from the decadent Empire, Loog took up his spear against the tyrant on the throne. And on Twin Stars Hill where he was crowned king, Kyphon became his most faithful knight! His skill and unwavering courage was unmatched; even when Emperor Dietfried pushed Loog’s army all the way back to the Tailtean Plains, he fought on!

Kyphon, Loog’s sworn friend; the legendary swordsman loved fame and glory like no other knight. Yet, his love for glory could never outweigh his love for his brother and his duty to his king…

* * *

_The skies were clear, the fields were green_

_Two young warriors, valiant and strong_

_Journeyed together far from home_

_Loog and Kyphon, lifelong friends_

_One followed the other, never alone_

_Sword and Shield!_

_At Lone Wolf Bridge!_

_So it was decided_

_So the deal was struck_

_One followed the other_

_Never alone_

_The dawn heralded winds of change_

_A king was chosen on Twin Stars Hill_

_A valiant spear, a mighty shield_

_Loog and Kyphon, fated friends_

_Still rode together, as king and knight_

_Sword and Shield!_

_On Gronder Field!_

_So it was decided_

_So the oath was sworn_

_Together forever_

_Never alone_

_The cold rain pours, the warbows sing_

_A storm of arrows soar in the wind_

_To battle they rode, king and knight_

_Loog and Kyphon, two sworn friends_

_Two rode to battle, one returned_

_Sword and Shield!_

_On Tailtean Plains!_

_So it was decided_

_So the die was cast_

_One life for another_

_Loog must live on_

_So it was decided_

_So the die was cast_

_One life for another_

_Loog, you must be…_

_Stronger than all others_

_Stronger than me_


	2. Chapter 2

_Little is known about Pan the Undesiring Strategist prior to the War of the Eagle and Lion. He was a Crestless nobody from a bardic family and was commonly described as an unremarkable little man—Kyphon was known to have quarrelled with the cautious strategist and disdainfully called him a shrimp. Initially enlisted in Loog’s army as a mere battle-mage, Pan quickly rose to prominence after briefly meeting and befriending the king. It was said that the King of Lions was smitten the moment he laid eyes on the young mage, and proceeded to invite Pan to his tent to play tafl every other night. Some said the mage had cast a spell on Loog, for the king had previously mentioned a beloved in Fhirdiad awaiting his return._

* * *

 **W** hispers sifted through the groups of mages and clerics in the camp as Pan dragged his feet out of Captain Adelaide’s tent and into the midday sun. He could see their stares and their fingers point his way; he could almost read the disdainful words on their lips.

A _whore_ , they called him; a lowborn harlot who’d bewitched the king, they said. _He_ , who had loved the man they named king for two decades or more! _He_ , who left his home to live a wanderer’s life with Loog!

Pan clenched his fists and dug his finger-nails into his palms, his quickened breath coming out of flared nostrils as he made his way back to his own tent. They had always been envious of his quick rise to success. Nevermind that he won his position as the captain’s lieutenant through trial and skill; nevermind that he defeated every single one of his opponents in magic combat—Crest or no Crest!

Loog didn’t even _know_ he was here; while travelling with the army, Pan had been posing as a foreign warlock from across the northern sea. He enlisted under the name of Einarsson and with his youthful looks and short stature he easily passed for a man ten years younger. He’d intended to watch over the King in secret, supporting and protecting him from the shadows, but that plan was foiled when Loog suddenly arrived in his camp to rally the troops with his speech. As a captain’s lieutenant, Pan stood in the front row of the formation in full view of the King, who froze at the sight of his lover’s face. For despite his unremarkable features, Pan shone like a beacon in the eyes of the man whose heart he owned. Desperately, he’d waved his hands above his chest; silently, he’d begged Loog to not draw attention to him. But his expression and gestures had only confirmed his identity to the King, who mistook his message for excitement and joy. Loog dismounted his horse and approached Pan with hasty steps, so elated to see his beloved that he embraced Pan right then and there and told him to come to his tent later.

Even though Loog hadn’t meant it as an order, it naturally became one when spoken under those circumstances. Even though Pan didn’t stay the night, the damage had been done. People began whispering about him having bewitched the King the day after the event already, and within three days Captain Adelaide had uncovered his fake name and identity. She summoned Pan to her tent to question his character and intentions, scorning his attempt at explaining himself as Loog’s childhood friend—high nobles didn’t mingle with commoners, so why would Count Blaiddyd ever choose a Crestless nobody like him to be his child’s playmate? And then… she unceremoniously discharged him from the army, telling him he’d be court-martialled if she saw him in the camp tomorrow.

Pan let out a hopeless sigh as he whisked his tent open and withdrew to privacy, beginning to gather his belongings and angrily throwing them into a bag. _Seventeen years._ He’d followed Loog as a friend and lover for _seventeen years_. Yet, never in his life had he been insulted like this. He could take the derisive remarks about his physical attributes and lowborn status—in fact he was used to those. But not _this_ ; not this perversion of his character and complete debasement of everything he stood for!

Pan finished stuffing his spare clothing into his bag, closing and slinging it over his left shoulder. He stood up, his right hand bitterly grasping the wooden scabbard of the simple short sword hanging from his belt—a token of love gifted to him many, many years ago.

It was a mistake to come here after all. He should have listened to his mother; he should have heeded his father’s advice: He should have stayed home. Things were different now—Loog was no longer a noble without inheritance; as the head of House Blaiddyd he had to marry a woman and produce an heir!

“Shrimp,” said a gruff voice as sunlight poured into the tent from the entrance.

“What is it?” said Pan, his clear voice dulled by anger burning in his chest as a long shadow loomed over his slender frame. “Kyphon,” he said, addressing the errant knight holding up the tent flap.

There he stood—Kyphon, handsome and tall; dressed like a proper knight and not like a caveman. His plate armour gleamed in the sunlight and his long azure cape elegantly fell from his shoulders to outline his stalwart physique. The scraggly beard that framed his perfect smile had been trimmed—no longer was it growing everywhere from his cheeks and down to his neck, and his long raven waves had been pulled back into a loose braid behind his head. Even the scar that cut a path from the bridge of his nose to the side of his left cheek couldn’t put a damper on his striking visage and merely enhanced his heroic image. But in his emerald eyes, which usually glinted with confidence and pride, Pan saw sadness and regret.

“Shrimp,” began Kyphon, his voice soft as if speaking to a hurt child—too soft for a bloodstained man of war.

“Leave,” said the mage, his words a sharp breath to the wind. “I don’t want your pity.”

“Loog deserves to know you’re here fighting with him,” said Kyphon.

Pan flinched and stared at his friend wide-eyed and furious.

“ _You_ told him I was here?” he said, fiery eyes burning like furnaces and hot breath exiting through flared nostrils.

“I didn’t know he’d react like _that_!” said Kyphon, defensively showing the mage his palms. “I didn’t know these rumours would cause you to be discharged.”

“Then what _did_ you expect?” hissed the mage, his face scarlet with rage. “I’m lucky that Captain Adelaide didn’t court-martial me thinking I was an Imperial spy!”

“I _outrank_ Adelaide von Gideon,” said Kyphon, starting to sound frustrated too. “I’ll override her—”

“So that everyone can spread more lies about me seducing the King and his generals?” retorted Pan, angrily pointing to the side of his skull. “ _Think_ a little, Kyphon!”

The swordsman closed his mouth and inhaled deeply, defiantly staring at Pan with puffed up cheeks. He then narrowed his emerald eyes and calmly spoke:

“Loog won’t forgive himself if you died as a nameless soldier without him ever knowing you were here.”

“I don’t plan to die here,” retorted Pan.

“This is _war_ , Pan; deaths are inevitable. As a footman, you don’t even have the privilege of staying out of the front-line!”

Pan pursed his lips and averted his eyes, stubbornly folding his arms across his chest while gritting his teeth. His eyebrows twitched as his anger rapidly subsided to give way to self-hatred.

“We can fix this,” said Kyphon. “I have a plan.”

“Hmph, and what do you propose?” huffed Pan with a downcast look. “I’m not like you, Kyphon,” he said, a-matter-of-factly. “I am not strong. I don’t have a Crest. I am a nobody without a drop of noble blood in my veins.” He briefly directed his gaze towards his much taller friend and then looked away again. “No one will believe a word I say.” Pan spat the words out of his mouth; so vile was the truth that even acknowledging it carved a deep gash in his soul. Once, he and Loog were inseparable. But now that his beloved had to carry the fate of Faerghus on his shoulders, Pan couldn’t even be near him to share the burden!

“If you become Loog’s strategist,” said Kyphon, “you will have reasons to meet him on a regular basis.”

Pan laughed dejectedly and shook his head.

“ _That’s_ your plan?” he said in a low voice; more amused rather than mad. “You’re more foolish than I thought you were, Kyphon. Even assuming my promotion goes unchallenged, I have no experience fighting in a war, less directing an army.”

“You helped Count Mateus defeat the pirates at Rhodos Coast. I’ve also heard that you were instrumental in bringing down the outlaws of Gwenhwyvar.”

“Yes, I’ve outwitted outlaws and corrupt magistrates… And yes, I did study military tactics and war stratagems back when I tried to become a knight… But this is different, Kyphon! I have never fought in a war like this and I’m not familiar with the Imperial army and the Emperor’s commanders.”

Kyphon’s lips thinned into a smile—confidant and serene—too calm and too sure for Pan’s comfort. His sabatons clanked as he stepped up to Pan and swept behind him with one long stride. Placing gauntleted hands on the mage’s shoulders, he bent down towards Pan’s ear, his warm breath ruffling the short brown locks that framed Pan’s face and his menacing tone sending a shiver down the mage’s spine:

“Erwann von Fraldarius led a company in the Brigid Invasion and commanded a battalion in the war at Dagda. He is familiar with Dietfried von Hresvelg’s temperament and tactical mind—or lack thereof. With his ghost whispering in your ear—courage is all you need, Shrimp. Or are you _afraid_ , Pan O’Daly?”

The mage cringed and whirled away from the knight. He glared at Kyphon, who responded with a low, amused laugh.

“I am many things, Kyphon, but I am not a coward,” said Pan, narrowing his eyes at his friend. “Let’s not forget who pretended to not know his own sister at Twin Stars Hill.”

Kyphon bit his lip and brushed back a stray hair falling in front of his face.

“Erwann is dead,” said the knight, sadness and shame once again pooling in his striking emerald eyes, his voice lowered to a mere whisper as he continued. “The knight before you is but a Crested man of questionable linage.”

“Agnea never gave up looking for you,” Pan spoke softly as he beckoned his friend with a warm look. “When Loog and I first met her many years ago on our travels, she was paying people to go look for you in Dagda. Even now, she offers her hand in marriage to whichever noble soul who rescues her brother and brings him back from a faraway land. If it wasn’t for her duty as Countess Fraldarius, she would’ve gone looking for you herself.”

“She was always the sweetest of the bunch,” said Kyphon with a rueful smile. “But Agnea is better off without a brother like me. As a knight who failed his liege, I should’ve died in Dagda; as an assassin who failed killing his target, I should have perished in the Imperial Palace.” He then looked to the magic sword hanging from his belt. “And as the eldest brother who couldn’t protect his younger siblings, I—” He paused briefly and clenched his fists. “I have no right to appear before her.”

A low note hummed in the wind as green light poured out of the scabbard that housed Kyphon’s Singing Sword. Meeting the fires in the mage’s eyes, the knight slapped his free hand on the hilt and silenced the blade and its magic.

“For the realm,” said Kyphon with determination.

“For the realm,” replied Pan with a confidant nod.

* * *

_In the autumn 747 Loog elevated Pan to chief strategist, angering his generals to the point of mutiny. But the king was undeterred, confidant that Pan would prove his worth. And prove himself he would, for that little man bested the Imperial army at Gronder Field with his knowledge and cunning wit, earning the respect of his peers and forcing Emperor Dietfried to finally acknowledge Loog as a foe to be reckoned with!_


	3. Chapter 3

**D** uke Rodrigue Fraldarius and Margrave Charles-René Gautier were like brothers, so their sons were naturally brought together as friends.

Glenn and Miklan played nicely together as children, although they eventually grew apart as their duties consumed their lives. But even back then, Glenn remembered Miklan’s attention constantly being diverted towards his brother Sylvain.

Sylvain looked just like Miklan with the hazel eyes and bright red hair. He was four years younger than his big brother and two years younger than Glenn. As an older brother, Miklan adored Sylvain and watched the small child like a mother hen. He chased his little brother down the citadel halls, be it to get Sylvain to wear proper winter garments before stepping out into the cold, or stopping the small child from hurting himself. And if Sylvain was hurt, Miklan would patiently comfort and hold his brother until he stopped crying.

Four year old Glenn Fraldarius didn’t understand the appeal of fussing over a stupid and disgusting kid, who cried over nothing and wet the bed at night.

“Leave him to Fanny!” said Glenn, briefly eyeing at the nurse who handed Miklan the winter garments while the boy dressed Sylvain. “You have servants!”

“I’m the big brother!” said Miklan with a stubborn frown, protectively embracing his little brother as if the two year old could even understand the disparaging words. “It’s my duty to love and protect my little bro!” he said, looking to the margrave at the small game table in the great hall. “Right, Father?”

Margrave Gautier, who was in the middle of a game of chess against Felix’s father, looked up from the board to direct his attention to his sons. Grabbing his cane, he stood up from the armchair and approached the children who were about to head out to play. Born with one leg shorter than the other, he was nicknamed the Limping Lion. But despite his handicap, he had a Crest, and with it he could rise above the average man. The stories of Duke Fraldarius dutifully shielding Faerghus against the raiders of Sreng were spread far and wide, but it was Margrave Gautier who won the battle against the barbarians with his lance and cunning. And for his loyalty and labours, King Lambert awarded him all the conquered lands from Sreng.

The margrave ruffled the red hair of his firstborn child.

“Of course,” he said with a gentle smile, “you’re the big brother, Miklan.”

Miklan let out an elated gasp at his father’s approval. He hauled his younger brother up in his arms with a blinding smile. Decked out in his winter gear, he said:

“Come on, Silva. Let’s go out and play!”

“Miklan!” said the margrave as his child sprinted down the hall. “Be careful!”

“Yes, Father!” Miklan’s voice echoed through the hallway as he left. He didn’t turn around until he’s reached the castle doors. “Glenn!” he shouted through the hall. “Aren’t you coming?”

Glenn wrinkled his nose and looked away, folding his arms across his small chest. And Duke Fraldarius, who saw the son’s sour expression, left the game table and placed a warm hand on Glenn’s dark head.

“You could learn a thing or two from Miklan,” said the father with a mild smile. “After all, you’re going to be a big brother soon, too.”

* * *

In the year 1161, when the queen and the duchess became with children, King Lambert and Duke Rodrigue Fraldarius famously made a vow to wed their offspring should either of them be a girl.

However, fate granted both the king and the duke sons. And so, Glenn Fraldarius was placed in Castle Fhirdiad to be raised as the prince’s brother and aide.

Glenn had never asked or wished for a younger sibling. The fact that the baby in his mother’s belly stole away his parents’ affections before it was even born had soured Glenn towards the idea of sharing his parents with another child.

He didn’t realize how much he wanted to be a big brother until the king placed the baby prince in his embrace. The dangerous frost that had began invading Glenn’s heart melted in the warmth of the little prince. And he would sit at Prince Dimitri’s crib and watch the infant babble and laugh, longing for the day his younger brother would be old enough to play with him and admire him the way Sylvain admired Miklan.

But then came Felix—a boy frailer than glass, yet so strong that he shook Glenn’s world with his arrival like a titan. He made his father cry. He almost took his mother’s life. He almost perished in the cold winter when he was too eager to come to this world. After he was saved by the royal physicians in Castle Fhridiad, the king had Felix swept in royal blue.

“It’s only right,” said King Lambert. “He was promised another brother or a royal bride.”

“Of course…” said the duke. “Of course,” said Duke Fraldarius, placing Felix in the same crib as the infant prince.

In one fell swoop, Felix shackled their parents’ hearts and took everything that was meant for Glenn.

And Glenn, he had no choice but to love his dear brother. For that sweet child, his smile was unending summer and his eyes were fire—the frost never stood a chance.


	4. Chapter 4

**T** he prince and his highborn brothers were inseparable in their childhood years. Together, they spent half the year in Fhridiad and the other half in Fraldarius land. But in the spring of Glenn’s seventh year, a plague broke out in the capital, and Prince Dimitri was ordered to stay in safety in the duchy until the epidemic ended.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness,” had Glenn said to the prince. “Castle Fraldarius is your second home.”

“We’ll take care of you, Dima,” said Felix, hugging the prince tightly. “It will be all right.”

They were children—the prince and his friends. They were just children; they didn’t understand. Of course, they thought everything would be all right.

But the epidemic would endure for several months, and the prince would be denied his parents all the while. He would grow close to the duke and duchess and their sons, but he worried for his own parents who refused to abandon their people and flee the capital. When a cure was finally discovered by the wise mage Cornelia Arnim, the plague had already claimed many lives, including that of Queen Madelyn, who contracted the disease while helping the sick.

The young prince didn’t understand why his mother was in the cemetery once he returned to Fhirdiad. Young Prince Dimitri didn’t understand why Queen Madelyn lay buried several feet under earth and stone. And he never got to see his mother one last time or to say goodbye.

It didn’t take long for a slew of opportunistic nobles to start making eyes at the widowed king when his advisors pressured him to remarry despite his lingering grief.

Glenn would see his own father burn unsolicited love letters on the king’s command. He would see his Uncle Lambert standing before the queen’s portrait and lament his duty as Faerghus’s king.

“The crown is heavy, and heavy is the burden of parenthood,” said the king. “Dimitri needs a mother, and the kingdom needs a queen.”

At the behest of his advisors, King Lambert hosted a ball in the royal castle to seek a potential bride. It was said all unmarried noble ladies attended the dance to try swaying the king. And King Lambert would dance with twelve women he deemed worthy and then invite a handful of them to his court after the event, including the Saviour Mage Cornelia’s younger sister Patricia, who strongly resembled the late queen.

* * *

A Swan of Fraldarius loves once and once only, so the legend said. A Swan of Fraldarius mourns its mate till the grave, sung the bards of a long gone past.

To a majority of high nobles it was all a romanticized lie. For in reality noble marriage was a very, very political thing, and many would replace their spouse in the blink of an eye—duty to maintain alliances far outweighed a love of the past—if any love was ever there at all.

Glenn was twelve years old when his mother fell off her horse while hunting and died. But Rodrigue Fraldarius never looked at another woman again. He enshrined his wife Beatrix’s memory in the great hall of Castle Fraldarius, where he displayed the duchess’s best portrait, her bow and quiver, and the trophies they’d acquired throughout their years together.

And in the longest and coldest winter nights, he would sit at the fireplace and gaze at the duchess’s portrait and shed his tears in silence.


	5. Chapter 5

**G** lenn realized early that he wasn’t his parents’ favourite child. The way the father’s eyes lit up when the younger brother ran over to him asking to be held spoke volumes of the affection Rodrigue Fraldarius harboured for his youngest son. The way the mother lifted Felix up and kissed his cheeks told Glenn everything about where his own place in the family was. The duke and the duchess didn’t hug or kiss _Glenn,_ and whenever _he_ demanded attention and whined like Felix did, he’d be reprimanded for his infantile behaviour. And when he bitterly began to cry, his father handed him a handkerchief.

“Dry those tears,” the father told him. “We’re men of the north,” said Duke Fraldarius with a stern look in his stormy eyes. “Blade, blood and battle are what we’re made of. You’re the older brother—Felix and Dimitri look up to you. Be a good example for your younger brothers, Glenn.”

And so, at the tender age of eight, Glenn swore to never weep again—he didn’t have that privilege as the duke’s eldest child. So, young Glenn came to understand that he wasn’t sweet or charming and that he could never hope to be as such.

But he could be brave. He could be clever.

And he could be _strong_.

* * *

Glenn Fraldarius was diligent; no one could say he was lazy or spoiled as a highborn child.

When his father said he was handy with a sword, Glenn put his heart into mastering the blade. When his uncle said he had a knack for magic, he studied the arcane arts. When his mother complimented Felix’s aim with a bow, Glenn picked up the weapon to show his brother how it’s done. And when Prince Dimitri praised his cousin Jacques’s riding skills, Glenn decided he had to beat his cousins too.

His father and mother praised him to the high heavens, and his brothers admired him greatly; he was skilled with the sword, he was talented with magic, and he _always_ won in competitions against other noble children! He was a swan that took to the skies; graceful and strong; a shining example for his brothers and young cousins! As he _should_ be—he was the heir to House Fraldarius! One day, Glenn would be in his father’s seat of power—everyone knew Rodrigue Fraldarius was lucky and had procured a Crested heir on his first try, and such a talented son at that!

But then, on the winter Felix turned seven, he shook his big brother’s world anew like a giant.

The Brothers Fraldarius were sparring in the courtyard alone when it happened; when Glenn was being a perfect gentleman and allowed his younger brother to have the first strike, Felix hit him so hard that he shattered a bone in Glenn’s wrist.

“ _Glenn!_ ” shouted Felix in fright as soon the older brother cried out and dropped his dull training sword. “I’m sorry!” said young Felix Fraldarius, throwing his own sword to the ground. “I didn’t know you weren’t ready!” he wailed, pushing Glenn’s shield away to envelope his big brother in a hug.

But Glenn stood frozen in shock, shaken by his discovery. Glenn Victor Fraldarius had seen enough Crest magic to be able to recognize it even in a flash. Glenn saw, and Glenn _knew_. He knew that his little brother was Crested too, and bitterness immediately pooled in the pit of his stomach.

Duke Fraldarius never tested his younger son for a Crest; he’d never considered Felix as an heir since he had Glenn already. But now he could.

Yet, Glenn’s heart couldn’t freeze. Not when his sweet little brother’s warm head was pressed so close against his core.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” whispered Felix, crying into his big brother’s chest as the snow began to fall. “I’m sorry, Glenn, I’m sorry!”

And so, Glenn smiled through the pain. So, he swallowed his jealousy and spite.

“I’m fine,” he whispered back, dropping his shield to tenderly return his little brother’s embrace with his good hand. “I’m fine, Little Brother, please don’t cry.”

* * *

That evening, when the family ate at the longtable, Glenn was uncharacteristically quiet, only speaking when his parents asked him about the training injury.

“Glenn, how’s your hand?” said the mother.

“I’m fine,” replied Glenn. “Uncle healed it.”

“Ah, that’s a relief,” said the father. “Your mother and I were worried your ability to wield a blade would be compromised.”

Felix shone a bright pink and he shrivelled up in his seat behind the food, and Prince Dimitri gently draped a comforting arm around his shoulders as the raven-haired boy began to cry. His tears did not escape Duke Fraldarius, who cleared his throat and addressed his youngest son:

“Felix,” said the father with a stern look. “A blade has an edge. You don’t need to swing it so hard.”

“Y-yes, Father,” replied Felix, snivelling and drying his tears with his sleeve. “I’m sorry, Father.”

* * *

That night in the cold winter, Glenn sat in front of the fireplace and pondered what to do with the knowledge of his brother’s Crest.

Glenn had read the fairytales and the stories of a long gone past. He knew how they went; he knew how they ended. The _youngest_ child was destined for greatness; the _youngest_ child would win. Would Duke Fraldarius even choose _Glenn_ as his heir if he could freely pick between his two sons?

“Does it still hurt?” said Felix, having come down from his room to sit with Glenn in front of the fireplace. Worriedly, he knitted his dark eyebrows together and gently tugged at Glenn’s right sleeve. “Can I see, please?”

Glenn pulled his sleeve up, showing his little brother that their uncle had healed his wrist. He _was_ hurt, but the ache wasn’t in his _arm_.

“Are you angry with me then?” whispered Felix. He sniffled as his gentle eyes filled with tears. So sad was Felix that his lips quivered and his tears streamed like rivers down his cheeks. So afraid was Little Brother that he gripped Glenn’s sleeve tightly, yet he couldn’t meet the older brother’s gaze.

Glenn embraced his younger brother and drew the boy up onto his lap.

“I’m not angry,” said Glenn. “I’m fine, Little Brother, please don’t cry,” he whispered, resting his chin on Felix’s narrow shoulder.

I won’t cry, Glenn told himself. I’m the big brother, I _won’t_ cry, he repeated despite the mist thickening in his eyes.

This wasn’t right. Glenn was the brilliant, talented big brother— _why_ in the world was he envious of Felix for something he already had?

No one could say Glenn Fraldarius was an unloved child; no one could say he wasn’t praised for his ambition and success. Yet, as someone who’d never failed or stopped pushing himself to newer heights, Glenn sometimes wondered what would become of him should his wings ever break. And it had struck him during dinner, that his father worried more about Glenn’s ability to wield a sword rather than Glenn himself.

“I’m scared,” he told Felix. “Everyone likes me because I’m good with a sword and always win the competitions. But what if I lose? What if I fall? What if I’m not strong or good enough?”

“You’re my big brother,” said Felix. Sniffling, he added in a quivering voice: “I-if you fall… if you fall, I’ll catch you. So don’t be scared. You’re my hero, Glenn. You’re the biggest, strongest, bestest big brother, and I love you so, so much.”

Glenn let out a dry laugh against the back of his little brother’s neck.

“I thought Kyphon was your hero,” he said, raking his fingers through Felix’s hair.

“You’re better than Kyphon and better than Loog and better than everyone!”

That night, when Felix cuddled up to him in front of the fireplace, Glenn’s insecurities and jealousy crumbled to dust. That night, when Little Brother rested warmly against his chest, Glenn decided he was Felix Fraldarius’s older brother before he was the duke’s eldest son. In that very moment, he knew that as long he had his little brother, everything would be all right.


	6. Chapter 6

_On green field a silver swan rising with wings addorsed and elevated, wearing around its neck a duke’s coronet in gold, and under it a Crest of Fraldarius in silver._

So read the blazon of House Fraldarius’s coat of arms. So a swan lifted its wings on the green shield in nine year old Felix Fraldarius’s hands. Green and white; those were the colours of Felix’s doublet and shirts; those were the colours he wore in his first swordsmanship tournament. It wasn’t an official competition—Sir Gustave set it up on a whim—but it was Felix’s first time showing off his skill nonetheless.

Little Brother clenched his jaw tightly where he sat on the bench at Castle Fhirdiad’s training yard, waiting for his turn in the arena. Little Brother’s posture was rigid and his hands white-knuckled the heater shield on his lap. And next to him sat Prince Dimitri, wearing his usual charcoal and royal blue attire. The prince applauded every competitor, but his pale blue eyes constantly shifted towards Felix, who sat so close to him that their knees could touch.

“Felix Hugo Fraldarius!”

Little Brother jumped to attention and hurriedly answered Gustave’s call. He stood up rigidly, holding his shield close to his chest. Little Brother was nervous and wanted to win—of course he wanted to win when his big brother, friends and cousins were watching.

Glenn had always known he was second to Felix when it came down to a matter of personality and not skill. He figured out early that even though Prince Dimitri admired him greatly, it was Felix who was his best friend. Glenn saw, and Glenn _knew_. He knew that his younger brother was special to the prince the moment Prince Dimitri stood up and pecked Felix on the cheek for good luck.

Little Brother nearly jumped out of his skin and stared at his friend in confusion, but Prince Dimitri simply smiled, radiant and pure. He wordlessly raised a closed fist above his chest and shook it with confidence, causing Felix to duck behind his shield in embarrassment and hurry to the arena on quick feet.

Glenn and Cousin Jacques shouted words of encouragement from the spectator line. And Felix, emboldened by his friends and family’s support, puffed up his chest like a finch in cold winter and pursed his lips tightly while waiting for his opponent to be announced. Quite a number of disgruntled young nobles sat on pins and needles on the bench, eager to take Felix down after seeing Prince Dimitri favouring him so strongly. But to their surprise, Gustave announced:

“His Royal Highness Prince Dimitri!”

Little Brother’s bold face fell. He turned towards the bench where the other noble kids had already put a sword in the prince’s hands and urged him towards the ring. As Prince Dimitri took his position in the arena and smiled to Felix again, the younger brother drew in a deep breath and clenched his jaw in a stubborn frown. Felix raised his shield and pulled his sword behind it in a defensive stance. And Prince Dimitri nodded encouragingly, charging towards him with his training blade as soon the bout began.

Glenn would remember that duel where his little brother beat the prince for the first time. House Fraldarius would tell stories of the fight, in which Prince Dimitri’s Crest suddenly manifested. How Felix Fraldarius had skilfully dodged and deflected all of the prince’s fierce blows and worn him down. How Prince Dimitri had thrown his shield in frustration to take a swing at Felix using his sword with both hands, and in a flash of Crest magic split his own blade in half against the edge of Felix’s shield. And then, Felix had poked the dumbfounded prince on the chest with his sword, thus ending the match.

“ _Felix Fraldarius!_ ” Gustave announced the victor.

Felix would remember this match and this win against Prince Dimitri. But he would do everything in his might to deny what happened afterwards:

He stood rigid in the arena white-knuckling his weapons and didn’t move until Prince Dimitri gently wrung the blade out of his hands. And then he dropped his shield and flung his arms around the prince’s neck, crying right then and there in front of an audience.

“You’re so good now,” said Prince Dimitri with a tender smile, his voice warm and full of admiration as he returned the hug. “I need to train harder or I’ll fall behind.”

Little Brother didn’t win the tournament. Yet, Glenn saw that Felix felt like a winner when he left the training yard with Prince Dimitri—smiling hand in hand.

And Glenn, he knew then that he was doomed to forever protect those smiles.


	7. Chapter 7

_On golden field, a red lion rampant langued and armed blue, holding in front paws a black spear upright, and in each corner an azure Crest of Gautier._

So read the blazon of House Gautier’s coat of arms. So the red lion with a cobalt tongue and claws raised a spear on the banners of Miklan’s entourage.

Glenn was eleven years old when he learnt that even the strongest bonds could break.

He was visiting the northern citadel when Margrave Gautier had the servants saddle Miklan’s horse and dress him warm for the journey to Sreng: the margrave’s firstborn was to meet the Srengish princess, whom he’d been promised to since the end of the war.

Ever since the Srengish drove Faerghus’s citizens out of the northern peninsula two centuries ago, the land up here had been a battlefield for foreign clans. Those clans eventually consolidated in two factions at perpetual war, and they both sent raiding parties to pillage Faerghus for resources. When King Lambert ousted the southern faction in 1168, the rest of the peninsula united under the rule of a single Queen Hekla, who’d cut a deal with King Lambert and House Gautier: Faerghus would rid her of her rivals and recognize her as sovereign Queen of Sreng, and in exchange she would stop the raids and ensure peace.

So the deal was struck. So the oath was sworn. And to solidify the fragile peace, Margrave Gautier and Queen Hekla agreed to wed their firstborn children once they came of age.

Miklan was not old enough to wed, and Princess Birka was too young to be a bride, but the Queen of Sreng wanted her daughter to be acquainted with the groom before the union. The margrave’s son could also use this chance to familiarize with Srengish custom and his family to-be, too, she told Lord Charles-René in her request.

“This is stupid,” said young Sylvain, standing next to his father in the courtyard with his fists closed tightly and his arms stiffly pointed downwards in defiance. “Miklan, you don’t even know her!” he said, catching his brother’s gloved hand as the father ushered Miklan towards the escorts.

“That’s why he’s going, Sylvain,” replied Margrave Gautier. “To get to know her. Now, let go of your brother and—”

“But she’s just a _baby_!” Sylvain complained. “This is so _stupid_! You promised to take me hiking in the mountains, Miklan!”

Before Miklan rode away with his escorts, he hugged his little brother, telling Sylvain to practice his spearmanship on his own while he was gone.

“It’s just for two months, Silva,” Miklan promised with a warm smile. “I’ll be back in spring. We’ll go hiking then, okay? I’ll tell you everything when I get back!”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

* * *

But Miklan would return different and strange. He would tell no tales; he would refuse to speak of his trip to Sreng altogether. He stopped talking to Glenn and Felix, and he would eye at Sylvain with a pained look. Eventually, he began treating his little brother with callousness and distance too. In one moment, he’d be yelling at Sylvain for stupidly asking simple questions and in the other he’d be begging for forgiveness. And Sylvain would forgive him, thinking his brother was simply moody after his trip to Sreng. But Glenn knew something was wrong when he heard the Brothers Gautier went hiking in the mountains and Miklan somehow _lost_ Sylvain up there. The rumours said that Miklan came back crying and begging people to help him look for his lost brother, and Sylvain blamed himself for what happened in the mountains after he was found at nightfall, saying he walked too slowly and couldn’t keep up with Miklan. Margrave Gautier would have none of it, and he punished his elder son for neglect.

Miklan stopped showing up in the Royal Court following that event, opting to study warfare and military tactics in Gautier territory instead. Glenn remembered the day Sylvain came to Castle Fhirdiad alone showing off a shiny dagger encrusted with rubies and sapphires.

“ _Wow!_ ” said Felix. “Where did you get that?”

“Miklan gave it to me!” said Sylvain with his brightest smile. “He got it from the Srengish Queen! Isn’t it pretty?”

That was the first blade Miklan gifted Sylvain. But it wouldn’t be the last, and Sylvain would eventually build up a knife collection with his brother’s gifts.


	8. Chapter 8

_On blue field, a griffon close and saddled, with an armoured knight astride its back holding a sword upright, and under it a Crest of Blaiddyd, all in silver._

So read the blazon of House Blaiddyd’s coat of arms. So the silver threads shimmered on the cloaks of the royal knights, who rode ahead of the king’s closed carriage in the parade.

Fourteen year old Glenn and his little brother watched the procession among Fhirdiad’s residents from the capital’s main street. Felix held his breath in wonder, his fiery eyes glinting as the knights passed on their handsome steeds. Their armour shone in black and silver under the midday sun and an azure star gleamed on their breasts—a symbol of their devotion and a reminder of their oaths: a vow to serve House Blaiddyd and the Royal Family, loyally and faithfully until death. There was glory to be found in knighthood—service to the king was rewarded with renown and fame.

“I’m going to be a knight!” said Little Brother in awe and admiration. “I’m going to be a knight and protect Dima!” said young Felix to Glenn.

Many a Fraldarius had worn the mantle of a knight, and Felix would certainly not be the first to don royal blue instead of green. But as an older brother, Glenn could not pass up the opportunity to tease.

“ _You_ , a royal knight?” said Glenn, his voice pitched high in jest. “You’d be the smallest knight in Fódlan!”

“ _Glenn!_ ”

“The _tiniest_ one in history!” Glenn added with a laugh. “The tiniest— _Oof!_ ”

Glenn grimaced and clutched his leg; Little Brother kicked him in the shin. Little Brother stuck his tongue out and made a face.

“Dima! _Dima!_ ” Felix waved his hands above his head, calling out to his friend in the royal carriage as it rolled past them on the streets. “I’m going to be a knight! I’m going to be your knight!” he said, pointing at the riders ahead.

But Prince Dimitri did not see or hear him. The prince sat nervously inside the carriage; anxiety written all across his face despite the king reassuring him with a hand on the shoulder. The two were joined by Saviour Mage Cornelia and her sister Patricia, who had been King Lambert’s favourite courtesan for a good five years. Why they still hadn’t wed was a mystery to the entire court, but many attributed it to the Saviour Mage herself, who was extremely protective of her younger sister to the point of monitoring Lady Patricia’s every move. Which was strange, since every other person in Faerghus would have jumped at the opportunity to become kin with the king.

“Alas, I’d hoped you of all people would understand,” Glenn remembered Cornelia say when he confronted her with the question in Castle Fhirdiad. “My poor sister has suffered much heartbreak from the nobles of the Empire, who treated her like a plaything and then tossed her aside once they tired of her body and pretty face. I cannot let my sister be caged up with a beast should my worries— _Oh!_ I’ve said far too much! Please excuse me, Lord Glenn.”

Then, as she walked, she’d darkly added:

“From one older sibling to another, Lord Glenn; be wary of the Blaiddyds. You may know their faces, but you don’t know their hearts.”

“ _Glenn!_ _Glenn!_ ” shouted Felix, tugging at the older brother’s hand and pulling Glenn out of his reverie. “Come on, we’re missing the show if we don’t hurry to the plaza!”

And Glenn followed, dragged and tripping after his eager brother towards Loog’s Square, where a podium stood raised with a large boulder resting on top. City guards kept the big audience at a safe distance and the Brother’s Fraldarius had to push and snake their ways to the front rows to see anything. Their father stood below the platform with the sheathed relic glaive of House Blaiddyd on his shoulder, and Sir Gustave was there holding his young daughter in his arms.

“Father! _Father!”_ Felix shouted from the audience. _“_ We’re _here!_ ”

Duke Fraldarius lifted his gaze and smiled to his sons, readjusting the glaive resting on his shoulder as he raised his free hand to wave politely.

Soon, the herald announced the king and the prince’s arrival and Gustave put his daughter down, telling her to go back to her mother in the crowd. The knight clapped a hand on the duke’s shoulder and then strode behind the podium. Duke Fraldarius smiled and shook his head, following while carrying the relic glaive.

Glenn knew this ceremony; he’d read it in the books: A rite from the ancient times, in which the heir of House Blaiddyd proved his worth and linage to all. A flash of light, a stone cleaving blow; blood, might and magic all displayed at once.

The sun stood high as the herald took the stage, beginning the mandatory speech. Duke Fraldarius soon followed up on the platform with the prince in tow. He lowered the legendary glaive and took off the leather sheathe, raising the relic weapon for all to see as the herald finished the speech. Then, he placed the weapon in Prince Dimitri’s small hands, urging the prince towards the stone.

Prince Dimitri approached the boulder, gripping the glaive tightly and nervously gazed down towards the crowd.

“Don’t worry, Dima!” Felix shouted over the murmurs of the audience on the square. “You can do it, Dimitri!”

The prince blinked and directed his attention towards Felix and Glenn. And the younger brother, he made a fist with his right hand and shook it with a confident look. Prince Dimitri nodded and drew a deep breath. He raised the glaive with a brave face, bringing the heavy weapon down with a loud shriek and a flash of Crest magic, splitting the boulder clean in halves.

The crowd erupted in applause and cheers. And the prince smiled warmly, his eyes lingering on his best friend, who clapped so hard his palms might burst.


	9. Chapter 9

**J** ean—the steward of Castle Fraldarius and the duke’s old friend, hailed from a village south of the castle town named Branwen, which was an important place for King Lambert. It was in this village the king learnt the importance of seeing his subjects’ plights first hand, and it was here he met Queen Madelyn, who was a village priestess before she married the king.

In the summer 1173, Glenn’s family and friends visited Branwen to enjoy the summer festivities. Prince Dimitri, Ingrid and even Sylvain were there; Miklan couldn’t come since he was spending the summer in Sreng.

The villagers had all gathered at the main street to welcome the duke and his family. They happily let the children join in the preparations for the midsummer activities, and were not shy of making them work. Glenn remembered helping the villagers chop wood and build a big bonfire on the riverbank. He remembered participating in the summer games at noon and winning the kubb tourney with Ingrid and Sylvain on his team while Prince Dimitri kept breaking his throwing sticks to Felix’s dismay. Little Brother was crying at the end of the games since he and Prince Dimitri ended up in last place, but he stopped once realizing he’d shamed the prince to tears.

“These games are stupid anyway!” said Felix, angrily wiping his tears and grasping Prince Dimitri’s hand. “Who cares if we lost today, Dima? We’ll get them next time!”

“Hah-ha, you’re doing better than your old man, Prince.” said an elderly shepherd. “Egil didn’t play this game well either.”

“Who’s Egil?” asked Prince Dimitri.

“The King, of course!” said the shepherd. “Don’t you know that’s what he called himself when he romanced your mother here?”

“I was very little when Mother died. Father doesn’t talk about her.”

And so they gathered around Old Tobias, who told them the tale of how the king wooed his queen in Branwen and how she helped him change into a wise ruler, who not only cared for his direct vassals but also for the common folk.

King Lambert was still a prince back then and he was passing through the village on his way back from visiting the duke’s sons. Here in Branwen—at the humble church, he met a maiden so beautiful that he could not forget her face. So smitten was Prince Lambert, that he could not purge that woman’s visage from his mind even after returning to his castle. He _had_ to see her again, he decided, so he returned to the village in disguise to pursue the priestess who’d stolen his heart.

It was a warm evening in the middle of spring when the wanderer Egil Egilsson arrived in Branwen, penniless and wearing dirty rags. His uninspired name was clearly Srengish and the villagers did not treat those with connections to the foreign plunderers well. But Priestess Madelyn was as kind as she was brave; she defended the disguised prince from the lynch mob, and she took the wanderer into the church when he told her he had no coin to rent a room. And from there, the prince began to learn Madelyn’s tale: She was the youngest daughter of Baron Garcia, a minor noble subservient to House Fraldarius. She had escaped her life as a privileged noble and found peace under the Goddess’s wings. Here, she could help the poor and the sick; from here, she could reach out to the shunned and forgotten. She introduced him to her friends in the village and helped him settle in the church as a scribe. The two bonded over faith and a shared wish to make the world a better place for the poor and downtrodden. A romance sprouted from exchanged gifts and notes of admiration. He kissed her and put a ring on her finger—it was an heirloom, he said—and confidently promised her a wedding under the Garland Moon. Yet, he vanished in the dead of night and left her heartbroken alone.

Three nights. For three nights she cried, blaming herself for falling for a man of Sreng. But then a royal entourage arrived in the village and there he stood, Egil, the penniless wanderer now dressed like a prince. A prince who knelt at the steps of the church and spoke to her of a promise made under starlit skies and a silver moon. A prince, who on his knees begged her for forgiveness; for even though his name and stories had all been false, his love for her was true. For the ring on her finger was the Goddess’s Star, House Blaiddyd’s heirloom ring; a ring meant for his future wife and queen. Charmed by his faithful heart, she burst into tears. Moved by his love, Madelyn tearfully accepted his proposal. And the rest—the rest was history.

The children applauded the storyteller and immediately began swarming him with questions about the royal wedding and everything that happened afterwards. But Glenn did not look to the old shepherd and instead gazed towards Duke Fraldarius, who wore a tired expression and shook his head with a sigh. As the father passed the gathering, Glenn stood up and followed.

“That’s not how it happened, right?” said Glenn once they were out of earshot of the kids.

“Not quite,” replied the father, folding his arms behind his back as he strode towards Jean’s ancestral home where they were staying for the duration of the trip, “but it does make for a better story.”

“Then what happened?” asked Glenn.

The father stopped in his tracks. Slowly, he turned to face his eldest son with his eyebrows lowered in a judging look.

“I suppose you’re old enough to learn this lesson,” he then said, his face softening as he seated on the steps in front of the porch of Jean’s old home. He tapped the space right next to him.

Glenn quietly sat down next to his father, lacing his fingers together between his knees. Felix and the others soon came running, following Jean’s old mother to her crafting table in the yard to make flower wreaths for the circle dance later.

“Lambert and Madelyn met under much less friendly circumstances,” said the father. “Your Uncle Lambert…” He sighed. “He was quite a rascal back in the days.”

Glenn spat out a laugh and looked at his father, amused. Did he hear that right? Did Rodrigue Fraldarius, who always sang King Lambert’s praises, just speak ill of the king?

“I was accompanying the princes to Fhirdiad when they decided to stop and peep on the village priestesses bathing in the stream,” said the father, placing his hands on his knees and entwining his fingers. “They were caught and needless to say, Madelyn and Lambert didn’t part on good terms. That’s why he was compelled to pursue her under a new name and face.”

“Couldn’t he just have apologized?” asked Glenn, raising his hands above his shoulders with a scoff.

“Lambert wasn’t much different from Rufus in his youth; he was prideful, obstinate, and he didn’t think very highly of the common folk,” said the father. “I don’t know how he romanced Madelyn, but I accompanied him here to retrieve his bride. I remember him being all eager to bring her back to Fhirdiad under fanfare and parade… But once we arrived, he had the knights round up all the villagers and then intimidated them with his authority: Where was Marcel, who set his dogs on him for picking a flower from his garden? Where was Tobias, who said he’d break his leg for breaking his fence and letting his sheep escape the pen? And where was Esther, who said she’d cut off his fingers for daring to touch her lute? Lambert’s memory is impeccable. He remembered every name and every face that had wronged or slighted him. But when the villagers cowered in fear and begged for forgiveness, he laughed and revealed he was joking. They were his friends, he said, they had taught him more about the world in one month than his tutors in the castle had done in years.”

The father sighed and shook his head.

“Madelyn was still appalled by his behaviour,” he said. “She fell for the humble wanderer, she said, not the arrogant prince. She cast doubt on his heart and challenged his love. Lambert left that day, but he returned every other week to ask her to be his wife: ‘I’ve come for my beloved Madelyn,’ he’d say. ‘She died of a broken heart,’ she would always reply.”

“Then how did they get together?”

“It was a messy lovers’ quarrel, but when Lambert came down with pneumonia in the middle of winter and didn’t come to Branwen as expected, Madelyn travelled to Castle Fhridiad with the Goddess’s Star on her finger and demanded to see her fiancé. The royal wedding was held in the next moon.”

The father chuckled and looked skywards.

“Sometimes, we only realize what’s important to us when we’re about to lose it,” said the duke, twisting the wedding band encircling his ring finger. “And sometimes, we only understand how important something is after it’s gone.”

The father then looked to Glenn and said:

“I know you begrudge me and your mother for favouring Felix over you.”

Glenn clenched his teeth behind closed lips. He averted his eyes and kept his silence despite the bitterness bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Glenn was no saint—that was a given, but he’d _try_ to act like a person worthy of admiration for his brother and his young friends. When he then felt a light weight on his shoulder, he lifted his gaze towards his father who’d placed a warm hand there.

“You’re my heir, Glenn,” said the father. “Everything that is mine will be yours. You’ll always be here with me, Son, but your little brother will one day leave us to seek his own fortune.”

Glenn’s jaw slackened as the truth cut him like a jagged blade. He directed his gaze towards Felix and his friends at the crafting table.

“ _Dimitri!_ ” Felix squeaked at the prince, who’d put a handful of wood sorrels in his mouth after Jean’s mother said they were edible. “You’re not supposed to eat that much!” Felix yelled at him. “Spit it out, you pig! _Dima!_ You’ll get sick!” The Prince clamped his lips shut and his eyes sparkled with joy as he giggled with his mouth full. Little Brother tackled him to the grass and tried prying the shamrocks out from behind his teeth. Thankfully, Sylvain pulled him away from the prince before he could cause a choking accident.

Yes, Little Brother had no inheritance. Even if Felix didn’t marry into another noble house, he’d have to leave Castle Fraldarius to seek glory on his own one day; Uncle André might have chosen a life of obscurity in his brother’s shadow, but Glenn could not imagine Felix wanting to rot away in Castle Fraldarius with him. And when that day arrived, Glenn wouldn’t be able to spend much time with his little brother anymore—if even _at all_. For who knew if Felix wouldn’t ride off to Leicester, fall in love with a noble from Adrestia, or even seek adventure beyond the borders of Fódlan? Suddenly, Glenn saw mist everywhere despite the weather being clear.

“Father—” he began, but he couldn’t finish before the duke stood up and dusted off his robes.

“Go join your brother and friends at the crafting station,” said Duke Fraldarius. “I have to meet with Baron Garcia and discuss his worries about the tax reforms, but I’ll be back for the feast.”

Glenn stared at his father’s serene smile and blinked away the tears. He then stood up and briefly threw his arms around his father’s chest and squeezed tightly, earning himself a puzzled look from his parent before returning to his brother and friends with a cheery smile.

“ _Glenn!_ ” said Ingrid, happily running towards him with a garland of buttercups and cornflowers. “I made it for you!”

“Aw, thank you, Inga,” said Glenn. He laughed heartily and bent down, letting Ingrid place it upon his head. “Am I pretty now?” he then playfully asked.

“You’re the _prettiest_!” squealed Ingrid, clapping her hands together.

Felix cringed, exaggerating his disgust with a grimace. He tossed his long loop of bluebells and daisies to the prince and then ran off to the rabbit hutch. Prince Dimitri stared at the garland confused for a moment, but then he carefully slipped Felix’s flowers over his head and around his neck. And despite Little Brother’s protests, the prince wore the flowers during the circle dance later and only took them off during the outdoor feast when Glenn told him they’d get in his food.

Ingrid ate like an ox and she shrivelled up when Jean’s mother playfully joked she’d eat her husband out of the house with that appetite.

“Don’t worry, Inga,” said Glenn, handing Ingrid her napkin. “No one needs you to be a lady today.”

“Yeah, besides, you’re cuter when you’re yourself,” added Sylvain.

The golden-haired girl seized the napkin and flushed bright red. Felix made a disgusted noise and pretended to throw up, prompting Duke Fraldarius to loudly clear his throat and deflate Felix’s ego with a glare; the father didn’t tolerate his children’s impudence in public gatherings. Seeing Little Brother’s sad face, Prince Dimitri whispered something in Felix’s ear that caused the raven-haired boy’s face to light up. They hastily finished their plates and then left the table.

“ _Oi_ , where’re you two going?” said Glenn as the boys ran past his seat.

“To see the baby chickens!” replied Felix as the prince dragged him towards the hen house.

Ingrid stayed at the table to listen to the father’s war stories and knights tales, while Glenn wandered the market with Sylvain and made sure he didn’t flirt with the wrong girl. At nightfall, everyone gathered at the river where the bonfire was lit to ward off evil spirits and misfortune. The festivities continued on the riverbank where musicians played and everyone clapped and sang along with the choir to welcome the season of summer.

Glenn hadn’t felt so worriless and free for a long time and he had so much fun that he knew he’d remember this summer until the end of his days.


	10. Chapter 10

**I** n his fourteenth year, Glenn was told that he definitely was the heir to the duchy and as its next ruler, he had to start learning the intricacies of governing a fief. And so, Glenn Fraldarius was separated from his two brothers and placed in his uncle’s care.

André Ulysse Fraldarius was secondborn and without a Crest, but his brother Rodrigue bestowed upon him his utmost trust, delegating him to ruling the duchy whenever he was away on military campaign or advising the king in the capital.

“No one rules alone,” said the uncle. “Not the king, not the duke, the counts, the barons, or even the magistrates and mayors beneath them. A Crest can make a man strong,” said Uncle André, “but it cannot make him wise. A wise ruler will remember that well.”

As the future duke of the Duchy of Fraldarius, there were many things Glenn had to learn: how to delegate power, how to raise and control treasury, how to manage the military and levy troops, how to secure his position from his seat of power, and how to keep his people happy and his subordinates content.

It was easy for Glenn to criticize his father and cousins for the problems in the duchy. It was easy for Glenn Fraldarius to mock his ruling cousins for squabbling in the council and make derisive comments about how their problems had “obvious” solutions. But Glenn would soon learn that being a just ruler wasn’t as easy as dying as a despot on the throne, and needless to say, “Rodrigue’s golden boy” was not a favourite at the council table. This was a problem since it would be Glenn’s duty to resolve disputes in the family as the head of House Fraldarius, and if there was one thing Glenn hated more than meaningless squabbles it was playing peacemaker. He couldn’t stand the quarrelling in the council already—he couldn’t imagine having to deal with his cousins’ private squabbles too!

“No one rules alone,” said the father, pulling the five volumes of Faerghus’s code of law from his bookshelves in the study, “even King Loog had a Pan. Rulers have rules to abide by, and a wise ruler will remember them well. The sceptre is heavier than the sword, Glenn,” said Duke Fraldarius, placing the tomes on the desk for his son. “Ask your uncle if there’s something you don’t understand,” he said, absently tapping his index finger on top of the stack of books.

That day, all the romanticism of rising as a benevolent ruler and being beloved by all vanished from Glenn’s mind. That day, Glenn realized that the throne was not comfy and that the sceptre was heavy, much heavier than the sword. And that maybe—just _maybe_ —he wasn’t strong enough to carry it, less wield it with grace.

Suddenly, he understood why his father fervently pursued a military career in his youth. Suddenly, Glenn realized that Little Brother’s lack of inheritance wasn’t a curse:

For the swan, it was a free bird; it wasn’t meant to wear a collar of gold.

But Glenn was a diligent and dutiful son. And he understood his place in the world as Duke Fraldarius’s heir. When the father told him he was to enrol in the Officers Academy at Garreg Mach in a couple of years, Glenn reluctantly agreed to attend. When his father dispatched him to help his Cousin Jacques clear out bandits on the countryside, he obliged. And it was in those small campaigns; in the smiles and cheers of the people he’d helped, Glenn found his true calling.

He wished to wield his blade in the name of justice and love like the knights of legends; not lord over people who didn’t even know his face. He wished to become distinguished as Glenn Fraldarius; not go down in history as Rodrigue’s successor or yet another faceless ruler that came after Agnea and Kyphon!

And in the autumn 1174, Glenn would be given a chance to grasp his own fate and change his destiny—but at what cost?


	11. Chapter 11

**G** lenn was fifteen years old when Felix and Prince Dimitri were separated. It happened a few days after the annual Great Hunt, and it happened without warning. Suddenly, Glenn was told to escort the prince back to the capital—no explanation given. Hastily, the servants removed all of Prince Dimitri’s belongings from the boys’ shared room and packed them into bags.

Glenn saw and Glenn knew. He _knew_ something terrible had happened and was happening right before his eyes. And his fears were confirmed when a closed carriage was prepared for the prince in the courtyard instead of their riding horses.

Felix held the prince’s hand tightly, afraid that his dearest friend would vanish if he let go for only a second. Yet, Little Brother dared to hope. He followed his best friend closely, but as soon Prince Dimitri was in the coach, Duke Fraldarius seized Felix’s arm and pulled him away from the carriage.

“You’re staying here, Felix,” said the father with a strained voice, shutting the carriage door in the confused prince’s face.

“I’m Dimitri’s _best friend_!” yelled Felix with his fiery eyes flooded with tears. “I won’t let him be alone in his castle!”

“ _His Highness_ will make new friends in Fhirdiad.”

“ _No!_ ” screeched Felix, distraught as tears rolled down his cheeks. _“_ He is _my_ best friend!”

“Don’t be selfish!” said the father in an uncharacteristically harsh tone; it was usually reserved for impudent cousins and subordinates. “You’ve had him all for yourself for eleven years. It’s about time you learnt to share.”

Little Brother wasn’t listening. Little Brother was upset. He didn’t understand what he had done or why he was being singled out to stay. He didn’t understand what had prompted his best friend’s abrupt leave—and neither did the prince nor Glenn.

“ _Felix!_ ” shouted the father. “Be _sensible_ for once! There are things _more important_ than you!”

Hearing that, Little Brother clamped his mouth shut, his pouty lips quivering while the tears continued to stream. Then, he whirled around and stormed off into the keep, at which point the carriage door flew open and slammed into Duke Fraldarius’s back, knocking the father off his feet. Prince Dimitri covered his mouth with his hands. He sat still inside the carriage with tear-filled eyes, suddenly no longer knowing what to do—one was his precious friend and the other was his uncle dear.

“Father, _what_ is going on?” asked Glenn, helping the duke up to his feet. “ _Why_ are you doing this?”

The father dusted off his sleeves and then retrieved an envelope from his pocket. He grasped Glenn’s right wrist and then pressed the sealed letter into the son’s hand.

“You must deliver this to your Uncle Lambert in person,” said the father, gazing into Glenn’s eyes. The duke looked towards the scared prince in the carriage for a moment and then turned back to his eldest son. “It’s a matter of national security,” hissed Duke Fraldarius, “do you understand?”

Glenn stared into his father’s eyes where a storm was brewing dark. Suddenly, he felt just as powerless as the prince. He still didn’t know why they were leaving and he didn’t know why Felix wasn’t allowed to come with. But he knew one thing: he wasn’t supposed to ask questions; he was supposed to simply _obey_.

National security. Glenn looked at the letter in his hand. He looked at the prince again and his eyes grew tall as he realized that the prince’s life was in danger.

Yes, it was the only explanation, thought Glenn while clutching the duke’s letter in his hand. He turned back to his father with a steady look and then nodded in affirmation. Pocketing the letter, he got into the carriage where Prince Dimitri sat and stared at him in disbelief.

“Make sure His Majesty reads the letter,” said Duke Fraldarius. “And make sure he burns it afterwards.”

Glenn nodded again and clenched his fists above his knees as the carriage door closed. He felt a pang in his heart when he looked towards the keep and saw Felix watching from the window of his bedroom. The father said something to the coachman, and then signed to Cousin Jacques and the Fraldarius knights. And then, they were off.

As the carriage passed through the gatehouse, the prince finally spoke up and pelted Glenn with questions: Glenn, what happened? Glenn, why did they have to leave early? Glenn, why wasn’t Felix coming with them? Was there danger? Then _why_ wasn’t Felix coming too?

“I don’t know,” replied Glenn, his voice pained and his heart torn. His eyes briefly darted towards the side of his hip where his sword thankfully rested in its scabbard.

“Will we be back soon?” asked Prince Dimitri. “I… I don’t want to leave Felix all alone.” The sound of his voice revealed that he already knew the answer. Yet, he had to ask.

“I hope so,” replied Glenn.

* * *

King Lambert was surprised by Glenn and Prince Dimitri’s early return to the capital. He, too, asked where Felix was. But once he read the letter from Duke Fraldarius, he gave the prince a sad look and then burnt the message.

“Dimitri,” said the king. “You’ll be staying away from Castle Fraldarius for a while. I’ll arrange new company for you as soon as possible.”

Glenn still had no idea what was going on in the duke’s castle, but King Lambert assured him that there was no threat against his father and brother’s lives. Even though Cousin Jacques and the Fraldarius knights returned to the duchy a couple of days later, Glenn chose to stay in Castle Fhirdiad. He missed Felix, but it couldn’t be helped—right now, Prince Dimitri needed his protection.

Cousin Jacques carried letters from Glenn and Prince Dimitri to Felix in the duchy, but what returned was a message from the duke reassuring them that Little Brother was well and that the prince should focus on his studies and on making new friends. Prince Dimitri wasn’t happy with the answer and neither was Glenn—Did the father confiscate Felix’s letters? Or was Little Brother so angry with Glenn and the prince that he refused to write back?

In the following week a slew of nobles arrived in the Royal Court with their children, introducing their daughters and nieces to the prince in hopes of securing a marriage deal—even Count Valdemar Galatea showed up with Ingrid!

The prince decided to meet their friend in the courtyard as soon he heard the news. Ingrid arrived by coach in the morning; she was dolled up in pearls and lace and she nearly tripped on the skirt of her periwinkle dress. She wrinkled her nose in annoyance and kicked her shoes with a frown—they were too big and clearly she’d been forced into the attire. Her face grew bright pink when she saw Glenn and the prince in the courtyard.

“You’ve got crumbs on your dress, Inga,” Glenn pointed out with a hearty laugh. “What were you eating in the carriage?”

Ingrid gasped and quickly brushed the crumbs off her clothing. When her father got off the coach, she quickly straightened her posture and curtseyed like a proper lady of the court while Count Galatea bowed for the prince.

Prince Dimitri was elated to see a familiar face. Yet, the first thing he asked Ingrid was if _Felix_ was well.

“Ingrid, have you seen Felix?” said the prince. “Is he okay? Is he angry with me? Why won’t he answer my letter? Please, tell him to come see me; I miss him so much!”

* * *

The days and weeks came and passed in Fhirdiad. Even with Glenn and Ingrid keeping him company, the prince’s sadness didn’t ease. Glenn saw and Glenn _knew_. He knew that Prince Dimitri missed his dearest friend, and Glenn missed Little Brother too. The prince looked so forlorn among his new friends at the mandatory tea parties, and it was both painful and hilarious to see the catty girls fight over his attention while Ingrid kept them at bay. That girl wasn’t a knight, but she was certainly as gallant as one. Despite being younger than most of her rivals, she was unafraid of scolding them for making Glenn and the prince uncomfortable or getting into fights; she defended the prince whenever Glenn could not.

When the king finally allowed Prince Dimitri to visit Castle Fraldarius, an entire month had passed. The courtiers said it was thanks to Lady Patricia’s persuasion, but Glenn assumed his father had finally caught whichever fool that was plotting against the Crown. Regardless, he was relieved that things would return to normal once more.

And the prince, he was delighted and wished to purchase a gift to his best friend before heading to the duchy. Lady Patricia and her sister suggested they go to the city’s marketplace together to look for a present, and Glenn and Ingrid tagged along on Prince Dimitri’s request.

The sun stood high when the prince and his friends pranced through the market in search for the perfect gift accompanied by two guardians. Lady Cornelia was ever so popular among the people since she’d saved the city from the plague years before. They flocked to the Saviour Mage to offer her their gratitude in words and gifts: praise, songs and poems, small trinkets, make-up and perfumes, breads and pastries, flowers, home-grown fruits and vegetables, and even a live chicken! Cornelia accepted all the gifts with a grin so fake that one had to be blind to not realize she detested the attention. Soon, she became so embarrassedly encumbered with presents that she gave Ingrid and Glenn all the pastries to eat and passed a bunch of her gifts to her sister to hold. Finally, she stopped to rest at the bronze statue depicting King Loog astride his horse on the square. The caged chicken let out a shriek when Cornelia dumped her presents around her feet on the granite setts.

“ _Shut up_ ,” she hissed at the startled animal in annoyance. Then, Cornelia wiped her brow and regained her composure, looking to Patricia and the children with a mild smile. “ _Hah_ , I’m exhausted,” she said. “You go look for gifts for the prince’s little darling. I’ll wait here.”

Prince Dimitri flushed bright red at the statement. His eyes darted back and forth and then he ran off to the nearest weapon vendor and picked up a sword from the table.

“ _This_ ,” said the prince, turning around and showing the present to his friends and guardians. “Will Felix like this?”

The sword was a simple elegant blade; double edged with a rounded pommel. Its scabbard was painted dark blue and the silver locket and hangers were decorated with hearts: Courage, devotion, trust, love—all virtues befitting a chivalrous knight.

“It’s so pretty! He’ll love it,” said Ingrid.

Glenn nodded in agreement. As Lady Patricia counted up coins into the merchant’s hand, Glenn took the sword and unsheathed it, tilting the blade to see if there were any nicks and scratches. And that’s when he saw the assassin’s reflection on the blade.

People would tell stories about this event. People would tell it in many different ways—exaggerating and adding details to the tale until it no longer resembled the truth. They would say that several men attacked them in the market. They would say that Glenn and the prince fought valiantly together until the knights or city guards arrived. But in reality, there was only one assailant and Glenn took him down without help.

The moment Glenn saw the suspicious man with a hood nearing the prince from behind with a look of ill intent, he turned around. When he saw the assassin’s blade flash in the daylight, he instinctively threw himself in front of his brother and caught the dagger on his back.

“ _GLENN!_ ” Ingrid screamed while the prince stood frozen in shock. As the gift-sword clattered on the ground, the merchants and shoppers around them screeched about murder and cried for help. Glenn clenched his teeth and swallowed the pain when the assassin pulled the dagger out from his wound. But before the man could strike again, Glenn whirled around and brandished his hand with magic, aiming straight at the assailant’s heart.

Lightning flashed and struck twice. And then the assassin dropped to the ground.

Glenn’s memory of the rest of the day was foggy at best. He remembered only taking a couple of steps before passing out on the streets to voices screaming his name. When he woke up later he was in his bed in the royal castle with King Lambert sitting at his bedside. The king picked up the pitcher from the nightstand and poured up a glass of water for him. And Glenn drank so fast that he choked on the liquid, coughing while his Uncle Lambert comfortingly rubbed his back.

“Dimitri—? Inga—?” he then gasped afterwards, looking at the king.

“They’re both resting in their rooms,” replied King Lambert. “Safe. Thanks to you.” The king gazed into his eyes with a worried look. “That blade was laced with venom, Glenn,” he spoke in a grave voice. “You were lucky that Patricia and her sister were there to save your life.”

“Oh… I should thank them later…”

The King nodded and then formally thanked Glenn for saving the life of the prince. He also asked what he wished to have as reward.

Glenn blinked and stared at his Uncle Lambert in confusion. He’d thought nothing of a reward when he shielded Prince Dimitri—he was only doing his duty as a brother and friend.

“Anything within my power,” promised the king.

Glenn averted his eyes and his lips parted and closed in wordless hesitation. A humble man would have staunchly declined the reward. A wise man would’ve let the king decide what his deeds were worth. Yet, seeing his opportunity to shine, Glenn chose to be neither humble nor wise.

“A knight,” he said, looking at the king. “Let me serve the royal family as a knight. Your Majesty, I wish to join the Royal Guard.”

King Lambert blinked at Glenn with an astonished look.

“Haha, that’s a lark, Glenn,” he then said. “You just lucked out today and you still want more of that? Have you even served as a page or squire yet?”

“I was my cousin Jacques Sebastian Fraldarius’s squire last year,” said Glenn, the confident look in his stormy eyes unwavering as he spoke. “I was told to wait for an opportunity to prove myself. Today, I think I’ve more than proven my loyalty and skill, Your Majesty.”

“Well, there is no open position in the Royal Guard right now,” said the king, averting his eyes and scratching the back of his head. “ _But_ ,” he then continued as his gaze returned to Glenn, “a _knighthood_ can be arranged once you’ve fully recovered. Will that do?”


	12. Chapter 12

**G** lenn rested on his lofty canopy bed as the midday sun shone through the window and illuminated the heavy tome on his lap. As the text became blurry and his eyes began to squint, he delivered a hard slap to the side of his face to stop himself from dozing off. Gazing out of the window towards the blue sky, he sighed. He flopped on the bed, groaning while lazily pulling the open book over his face to shield his eyes from the sun.

Damn it! He was a warrior, not a tax-collector—his hand itched for a blade! But he learnt his lesson yesterday when he tried sneaking in a training session and ended up tearing his wound open. Three weeks, had the royal physicians said. He should refrain from physical labour for three weeks, they said, but Glenn was already losing his mind after three _days_! And he didn’t even have his brother and friends here to help him pass time—Count Galatea sent his daughter home following the murder attempt in the marketplace, and Prince Dimitri had gone to train in the mountains with Gustave.

King Lambert’s reforms were generally unpopular amongst nobility—especially with the minor houses, who took offence to the king empowering lowborn magistrates to curb corruption. A group of no-name nobles eventually hatched the brilliant idea to abduct the prince, but thanks to House Fraldarius’s efforts danger was averted. Death was too lenient for those scoundrels, but death was all the cowards got. They didn’t even dare to challenge King Lambert himself; they went after _an eleven year old child_ instead!

“My son…”

Hearing a placid whisper break his reverie, Glenn gazed towards the doorway to see his father standing at the entrance of his bedroom. Duke Fraldarius still wore his hat and riding gloves, and his boots and the bottom of his coat were covered with mud and dirt; by the Goddess, he must have ridden to Fhirdiad in a hurry to see Glenn as soon the news got out!

“I’m glad you’re safe,” said the duke, approaching his son with cautious steps. Glenn could feel the mattress sink as the father sat down on the edge of the bed and took off his hat and gloves. Softly, the father placed a warm hand on Glenn’s outstretched legs on the bed. He looked at Glenn with concerned eyes and his lips parted to speak, but he couldn’t find words; for the first time, Rodrigue Fraldarius didn’t sing his son’s praises despite Glenn’s recent display of chivalry and heroism.

“I heard you wanted to join the Royal Guard, Son,” said the duke after a moment of thought, his voice burdened with pain.

Glenn slowly nodded. He sought eye-contact with his father, but the duke looked away sideways and continued to speak:

“I’ll cancel your enrolment to Officers Academy, then.”

Glenn closed his book and put it aside on the bed. Sitting up straight, he inhaled deeply and covered the father’s hand resting on his thigh with his own.

“I’m sorry, Father,” replied Glenn. Death had made him realize that he didn’t want to live a lie his entire life. “I know you want me to be a wise and strong ruler, but…” If he couldn’t even be honest with himself, could he truly blame others for assuming he wished to continue this path? “I want to forge my own legend,” said Glenn. “I… I want the world to know that Glenn Victor Fraldarius is more than just an _extension_ of his own father and House Fraldarius.”

The duke breathed a low, amused laugh to the floor and shook his head. He then gazed upwards for a quiet moment, gathering his thoughts. Then, the father faced Glenn with a faint smile lingering on his lips.

“Hah, I suppose the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” he said, placing his other hand on top of Glenn’s. “You know what you want, Son. Whichever path you choose, I know you will shine—brighter than all others… and brighter than me.”

Glenn’s mouth fell open at his father’s sincere words—he’d expected to argue against one of his usual lectures about the duties of a Fraldarius. Suddenly he felt a lump in his throat and tears pricking his eyes. He clamped his lips shut to not laugh like an idiot or cry like a child. Carefully, he scooted over to his father and tossed his arms around the duke’s neck and wordlessly clung on tightly.

 _“_ I’ll speak to your Uncle Lambert and set a date for your knighting ceremony,” said the father, tentatively placing his hands on Glenn’s shoulder blades to hold his eldest son for the first time in a decade. “Do you want to come home? Everyone has missed you.”

Glenn nodded silently, catching a tear on the back of his hand before it could flow past the curve of his cheek.

* * *

When Glenn returned to the duchy, people lined the streets to cheer for Faerghus’s Shield and his son, who had saved the prince and averted a national crisis. Glenn knew his name was small in comparison to that of his father, who’d defended the lands from bandits and plunderers for years. Yet, riding next to the duke that day made him realize that his dreams of glory weren’t as far-fetched as they seemed. One day, Glenn promised himself, he would spearhead a parade and hear the people cheer _his_ name. One day, _he_ would be a great hero too.

Things had changed at home, and it didn’t take long for Glenn to notice that a slew of the castle’s staff was missing. Glenn wasn’t exactly close with the servants, but he wanted to know what happened to the people regardless. When he went to his father’s study and asked the duke about the missing servants, the father replied without looking up from his paperwork:

“I hired those people for His Highness’s comfort. Now that Dimitri is staying in Fhirdiad we don’t need so many attendants.”

Glenn didn’t know if he fully believed his father’s words, but he couldn’t come up with any other explanation: it certainly couldn’t be because they couldn’t afford keeping them employed!

“So, where has Felix run off to?” Glenn then asked. “Is he still angry that I stayed in Fhirdiad to protect the prince?”

“Haha, of course not,” replied the father, looking up with a smile. “He’s Jacques’s page now, so he followed your cousin to collect taxes. Your uncle said they should be back tonight.”

Glenn chuckled. He knew Little Brother wanted to be a knight, but Felix must have whined for hours to get Jacques to take him as a page. The cousin didn’t want a helper; he only took Glenn as a squire because Uncle André ordered him to help his younger cousin gain experience in battle! But then, everyone in the castle had a soft spot for Felix. Sometimes, Glenn wondered if Little Brother even knew how loved he was.

* * *

It was sundown when Felix and Jacques returned to Castle Fraldarius, and as expected, Felix was overjoyed to hear that his big brother was back. He dismounted his horse in the courtyard and ditched his knight, running into the keep and upstairs to Glenn’s room, where the brother sat propped up against a mountain of pillows on the bed while reading the same boring book about taxes and with a box of sweet biscuits at his side.

“ _Glenn!_ ” shouted Felix, running up to Glenn and throwing his arms around the older brother’s neck. “Glenn…” whispered Little Brother.

“Aw, I’ve missed you too,” said Glenn, stroking Felix’s soft hair and putting his book away on the bed. “What have you been up to, Felix?”

Little Brother’s shoulders shuddered as he let out an incoherent sob.

“Chin up, Felix,” said Glenn with a cheery laugh. “I’m okay. I’ll be as good as new in a month.”

“You almost _died_ ,” cried Felix. “What were you _thinking_ fighting three crooks at the same time?”

“ _Woah!_ Hold up,” protested Glenn, quickly pulling his brother away and looking into Felix’s fiery eyes. “Who said I fought three people at once?” he asked, carefully drying Little Brother’s tears with his knuckles. “It was just _one_ guy!”

“But Jacky said—!”

“ _Psh!_ ” Glenn whisked his hand nonchalantly and rolled his eyes. A small laugh rose in his throat, but he swallowed it to not appear too conceited. “There was only _one_ assailant, Felix. And Jacques? He wasn’t even there!”

Felix bit his lower lip while grasping the front of Glenn’s shirt tightly.

“Hey, do you want to see my scar?” asked Glenn with a grin, but Felix lowered his head between his narrow shoulders and shook it vigorously while another stream of tears traced paths down his cheeks.

“ _Ahem_ ,” said Duke Fraldarius, loudly clearing his throat at the doorway.

Felix drew in a fraught little gasp and immediately straightened his posture, nervously wiping his tears against the back of his hands before turning around to face the duke.

“Father, welcome home,” said Little Brother in a stilted voice.

“Felix, you left your horse in the courtyard,” replied the father, stern but not unkind.

“Ah! I’m sorry!” said Felix nervously, his composure immediately shattered as he began wringing his hands. “I-I’ll get her to the stable now!” Little Brother stammered and hastily tripped towards the exit, but the father caught his shoulder and stopped him at the doorway.

“Don’t be silly, Felix,” said the duke, looking at his young son with a mild smile. “Raoul already took care of that.”

“Oh…” said Felix, directing his gaze at his feet.

“Just remember it next time, Son,” said the father gently, petting Felix’s head and helping the boy to relax. “We know how much you’ve missed Glenn.”

Little Brother lifted his head and looked up at the father, teary-eyed. He then threw his arms around the duke’s middle and cried:

“I’ve missed you too, Father!”

“Hah-ha, I’m glad,” replied Duke Fraldarius, embracing Felix with a soft smile, “although I was only away for a few days.” He then gently pulled Little Brother away and whispered: “Now, go back to Glenn or he’ll feel left out. I’ll call you when supper is ready.”

Felix smiled brightly and wiped away the remainder of his tears. No sooner than a second after the duke had turned away, Little Brother returned to sit on Glenn’s bed, glaring at the older brother with judging eyes.

“Come on, Felix,” said Glenn, smiling brightly. He sat up straight and slid his legs off the mattress to sit right next to Little Brother. “It’ll take more than a rusty old dagger and snake venom to kill a strong Fraldarius like _me_ ,” he said, putting a hand on Little brother’s shoulder, “I’ve got Crest-blood and—”

“You’re not invulnerable, you _fool_!” screeched Felix, batting Glenn’s hand away. “You could’ve _died_!”

As the tide began rising in those amber eyes, Glenn desperately looked around for a distraction and his gaze landed on his relatively new weapons on the desk.

“Hey, I got that sword and shield for you,” said Glenn, pointing with his hand. “Go have a look, won’t you?”

To his relief, Felix’s eyes lit up at the sound of presents, but Little Brother still shot Glenn a glare. With pouty lips, Felix punched the older brother’s chest, drawing a surprised gasp out of Glenn. Little Brother then stepped over to the desk and retrieved the Levin Sword. The waved blade was shaped like a bolt of lightning with the fuller lined with gold and the guard was adorned with arcane crystals—a resource which, in Faerghus, had been monopolized and strictly controlled by House Fraldarius since the Kingdom’s founding days. They fuelled the lingering enchantment, which allowed the wielder to call down lightning at will. It was a powerful sword, but not even close to the power of the weapons that Pan created during the War of the Eagle and Lion. Arcane blacksmiths had sought to recreate his weapons but failed; the man took many secrets with him to the grave—including the final resting place of Kyphon’s Singing Sword.

“Looks great,” said Glenn, watching his brother wave the sword with a testing hand. “You’re already shaping up to be a brilliant knight, Felix.”

“ _Hmph!_ ” Little Brother snorted with a frown on his face. He lowered the blade and looked at Glenn with eyes blazing in bright determination. “I wouldn’t let a stranger sneak up behind you with a knife,” said Felix. “I’ll protect you.”

“Sure thing!” replied Glenn cheerily. He slid off the bed and casually stepped up right next to his younger brother, throwing an arm across Felix’s back and dropping his hand on his shoulder to pull Little Brother close. “We can be knights together!” said Glenn with a twinkle in his eye. He extended his free hand towards the ceiling and gestured dramatically ahead. “Imagine the Brothers Fraldarius: Dual knights and defenders of the Crown! Our names _immortalized_ in song, and our blades and legends passed down for future gen— _Oof!_ ”

Felix elbowed him in the stomach. Little Brother muttered something under his breath while blushing to his ears. The boy turned his face away and tossed the Levin Sword back on Glenn’s desk, but couldn’t escape the room before the older brother caught his wrist and turned him around to face him again.

“I _mean_ it!” said Glenn amidst mirthful laughter. “Prince Dimitri would be delighted to have you at his side when he becomes king!”

“ _Shut up_ ,” hissed Felix, trying—and failing, to wrench himself free from Glenn’s grasp. “Dimitri… _His Highness_ has a dozen new friends!” He froze at the sound of his own words and then threw himself against Glenn’s torso, gripping the older brother’s shirt tightly. “He doesn’t—” Felix’s sentence was chopped off by imminent tears and sobbing. “He doesn’t—! _He doesn’t need me anymore!_ ”

As Felix cried broken-hearted and forlorn, Glenn enveloped Little Brother in a warm embrace.

“Prince Dimitri _does_ have a lot of new friends now,” replied Glenn softly, and he could feel Felix shudder at the sound of the painful truth. “But the one he _wants_ is _you_ , Felix Fraldarius.” Glenn pressed a kiss to the top of Little Brother’s head. “Prince Dimitri missed you every day. He thought you were angry with him, or that something happened to you when you didn’t reply to his letter.”

“He wrote to me?” said Felix, astonished and pulling away from the hug. “Dima, he… missed me… e-every day?” whispered Felix in wonder and hope.

Glenn furrowed his brow. He had to ask Cousin Jacques what happened to the prince’s letter later.

“Don’t worry,” said Glenn, “the scumbags plotting against the Crown are gone now so he can come back to the castle anytime. Or you can go visit him!”

Felix pursed his lips and averted his eyes sideways, muttering something for himself.

“Felix?”

Little Brother took a deep breath.

“ _His Highness_ has his duties and I have mine,” said Felix, parroting words that clearly weren’t his own. “We’re too old to always be stuck together. I must learn to be independent.”

* * *

Cousin Jacques said he handed the letters to his uncle, but the duke denied having received anything addressed to Felix. Glenn knew his cousin, and he knew Jacques wasn’t a liar. The entire lost letter ordeal was fishy, and Glenn couldn’t help wondering what happened in the castle while he was gone. He was suspicious of his own father, but he knew better than to antagonize the duke without concrete evidence, and he certainly didn’t want to wreck his family over a misunderstanding. But three days later, a messenger from House Galatea arrived in the castle while Felix and Jacques were out on an errand in a nearby town. And Glenn could no longer hold his tongue when the envoy told him the damning news:

The father had heard of Lord Valdemar’s increasing difficulty to handle House Galatea’s financial problem, and while in Castle Fhirdiad visiting Glenn, he’d offered to marry Felix to Ingrid in order to secure House Galatea’s survival should future troubles arise. Now that both Lord Valdemar and his wife were in agreement, the count proposed a date to formally seal the deal.

And so, Glenn stormed into the duke’s study and confronted the father about the proposed betrothal, saying Ingrid and Felix didn’t even like each other that way.

“They won’t wed until they come of age, Glenn,” replied the father calmly from his armchair behind the desk. He didn’t look up from his work, speaking evenly while he read various papers and documents on the desk. “Things can change over time.”

“You mean you _hope_ things will have changed when they’re old enough to wed?” retorted Glenn, infuriated that his father didn’t even try to defend his decision and instead banked on Little Brother and Inga to _hopefully_ fall in love with each other.

“ _Glenn_ ,” said the father with a grave look. “I am _not_ making this decision lightly.”

The father gathered the rest of his papers and reports, tapping the bottom of the bundle against the table to neatly arrange the stack before putting it away in one of his drawers.

“We are House _Fraldarius_!” shouted Glenn when he saw that his father was going to leave without giving him a satisfactory answer. “We systematically register all births in our family tree, and have succession rules in place so that the crown will always find a head on its own!” Glenn pointed to a large tome sitting on the top of the father’s packed bookcase. “We are the most powerful family of Faerghus bar House Blaiddyd and the backbone of the frigging Kingdom! _We don’t need to sell children like cattle to extend our influence!_ ”

The father glared at Glenn and then wordlessly opened a hidden compartment in his desk. He withdrew an envelope, placing it on the table and passing it over for the son.

Seeing Felix’s name on the envelope, Glenn carefully took it.

“ _Read_ ,” ordered the duke, and Glenn grudgingly took out the letter and unfolded it with a whisk of his hand.

It was the prince’s lost letter; it was Prince Dimitri’s _love letter_ to Felix. So sweet were the prince’s words that it was uncomfortable to read. So sickeningly sweet were Prince Dimitri’s words that Glenn’s hair stood up on their ends. Suddenly, Glenn realized why the prince didn’t give his new playmates much attention. Suddenly, he realized why Felix had become Jacques’s page; it was an excuse to keep Little Brother in the duchy and prevent him from seeing the prince!

“You can’t be serious,” hissed Glenn. “You’re throwing Felix into an arranged marriage because he likes another boy? I’d rather you sell _me_ to House Galatea!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Glenn! This is a _matrilineal_ marriage. I cannot give Valdemar my _heir_!”

“Then give the Aegis Shield and the castle to _Felix_!” shouted Glenn. “I don’t want your damn crown and chains anyway!”

The duke stared at Glenn with a blank, unreadable expression. He drew in a deep breath with a storm brewing in his eyes.

“I _mean_ it,” hissed Glenn, surprised by the words coming out of his own mouth. “I’d rather you give _me_ to House Galatea than watching you… separating lovebirds! At least Inga likes me enough—I think—to be happy for a while!”

“ _His Highness_ likes your brother,” corrected the duke, his voice strained as he calmly explained the situation. “Felix does not reciprocate.”

“How in the world do _you_ know when you intercepted and _confiscated_ his letter?” barked Glenn, his face scarlet with rage.

“I told him Lambert and I once made a vow to wed our children. Felix was quite _repulsed_ by the idea of marrying his best friend.”

“Did you ask him about Ingrid, then? I bet he’ll find _that_ idea equally repulsive; he’s _eleven_ _years old,_ for crying out loud!”

The duke averted his eyes and pressed his palms against the table in silence.

“This belongs to Felix,” said Glenn from behind gritted teeth. He waved the letter in front of his face. “I’m handing it over to him.”

The father lunged at Glenn without warning and reached over the desk with his hand, catching the letter, but the son didn’t let go.

“Glenn, you will only _worsen_ the situation!” hissed Duke Fraldarius as the tug-o-war began.

“I’m _fixing_ what you’ve _broken_ , old man!” shouted Glenn.

“This will just end in tears!” warned the father.

“Shut— _up_!” yelled the son. “And _let go_! You _old fool_!”

The father released the letter and Glenn staggered back with the prize. His victory was short lived, however, as red flames were quickly eating up the prince’s letter in his hand.

“ _Father!_ ” Glenn cursed and immediately threw the letter to the floor, stamping out the fire with his right foot. What remained were useless bits of burnt paper. “How _could_ you?”

“His Highness has his duties, and we have ours,” said the father. “When you are the Duke of Fraldarius you will understand the difficult choices I must make to safeguard the Crown and the Kingdom.”

The father walked past the crestfallen son and exited the room, his footsteps suddenly stopping as he addressed someone in the corridor.

“Raoul.”

Glenn’s eyes grew tall at the sound of his friend’s name. He darted out of the study to find the father looming over Jean’s nephew, cornering the timid stable boy against the wall and interrogating him as if he was a criminal.

“M-my lord! I-I came to report that Blossom just gave birth—!” said Raoul, covering his head with his hands. “I heard nothing! I swear, my lord, I heard _nothing_!”

* * *

Glenn didn’t know how to deal with a father who prioritised his own children so lowly. Wasn’t it enough that he robbed Glenn of a childhood? Did he have to ruin Felix’s future, too? And for _what_? To placate his extended family because he wanted to gift a small fortune to Count Galatea? To preserve House Fraldarius’s good name and not be responsible if the prince one day wished to take a male spouse? If _these_ were the decisions the Duke of Fraldarius had to make, then Glenn didn’t want to be anywhere near his father’s seat of power!

Felix still had no idea of what was in store for him, and seeing Little Brother treating their father with reverence made Glenn sick in his soul. But the evidence against the duke had been destroyed; would Felix even believe that their father was ill-intentionally keeping him separated from Prince Dimitri if Glenn told him? No, all Glenn could do was making offhanded remarks about the father unjustly kicking Raoul out of the castle. All Glenn could do was acting like a petulant child while biding his time.

He waited an entire week, making sure the wound on his back had healed enough so that the scar wouldn’t tear as soon he drew his sword or bow. With his escape disguised as a hunting trip, Felix agreed to come with him without any need of convincing. They left the castle in the morning; to the flames with the duke and his senseless sacrifice! Yet, once out of the castle-town, Glenn realized he had nowhere to run. He couldn’t seek shelter among his cousins, since they were all loyal to the duke. He couldn’t ride to Valdemar Galatea’s territory for obvious reasons. Westward? King Lambert was Duke Fraldarius’s best friend and brother! North? Charles-René Gautier would surely hand them over to the duke. Damn it, even Leopold Charon was the father’s ally!

Glenn kicked the moss on the ground in anger and wheezed in pain as his toes collided with a rock hidden beneath the greenery of the old woods. They were hunting the white stag that supposedly outwitted their mother in her final hunt. At least, that’s what Glenn _said_ they were tracking while secretly trying to figure out a plan to escape Duke Fraldarius’s clutches.

“Glenn!” said Felix, worriedly hugging the older brother’s arm. “Are you okay?”

“Let’s make camp,” replied Glenn from behind gritted teeth. “I’m tired.”

“O-okay…”

Once they had eaten supper at the campfire, Glenn concluded that the only way out was to hop on a ship and sail across the seas, or fly over the mountains to Sreng. He said so himself—House Fraldarius was the backbone of the Kingdom. It was with House Fraldarius’s support that Loog’s descendants managed to establish hereditary rule to begin with! Who was he kidding, thinking he could win against Duke Fraldarius, the second most powerful man in the entire Kingdom?

But then, Little Brother scooted over to his side of the campfire and clambered onto his lap. Felix was too old for this, but Glenn embraced Little Brother anyway.

“Glenn, what happened?” whispered Felix. “Why are you and father fighting? Why did he fire Raoul?”

“He was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” replied Glenn evenly—he probably sounded a bit bitter too. “He heard things he shouldn’t have heard and the old man, he— _Ugh_ , just thinking about him makes me angry.”

“Will you and Father be okay?” asked Felix. His eyes flooded with tears as he leant back against the older brother and cried. “Glenn…”

A chilly wind rustled through the trees and stoked the flames of the campfire. As he cradled Little Brother in his arms, Glenn realized that although beginning a new journey in faraway lands was an attractive option to _him_ , Felix wouldn’t be happy leaving his family and friends behind. The boy was a Fraldarius through and through—staunchly loyal to his family and friends, and the most caring person Glenn ever knew. Perhaps even _too_ caring…

“I worry about you,” said Glenn. “You’re good at listening, Felix, but you need to start thinking for yourself instead of taking everything the old man says as law.” He squeezed Little Brother in his arms. “He isn’t always right,” he said. “And neither am I…” he then added in a soft whisper.

Felix nodded, but Glenn couldn’t tell if Little Brother truly understood what he meant or if Felix was simply placating him.

“Good,” he still said with a faint smile. He grasped Felix’s smaller hand and guided it to Little Brother’s chest. “Listen and stay true to your heart, Felix Fraldarius. Nobody knows what you want better than yourself. Don’t let Father, or anyone else, tell you otherwise.”

Felix cuddled up against Glenn and sniffled.

“I just want you and Father to be okay,” whispered Little Brother. “We’re _family_ , Glenn, please stop fighting.”

* * *

He couldn’t do it. He rode back to Castle Fraldarius with Felix at dawn. Little Brother was right. They were _family_ —they should talk it out.

When they returned to the castle, Duke Fraldarius was walking Count Galatea and Margrave Gautier and their children out of the keep. The fathers exchanged smiles and friendly words—and it filled Glenn with dread. If a marriage deal was already sealed it would be even more difficult to convince his father to change his mind—it was shameful to break a betrothal and at least one side was bound to be hurt and disgraced.

“ _Glenn!_ ” shouted Ingrid then, her twin braids whipping her shoulders as she jumped up and down in excitement while waving her arms.

Glenn gave her a bright smile and politely waved back. Felix on the other hand focused his attention on Sylvain, who looked hurt and forlorn where he stood at the duke’s side. When Glenn asked where Miklan was, the red-haired boy lowered his head and looked away, and for a moment, Glenn wondered if something terrible had happened to his old friend.

Margrave Gautier however, quickly clarified that his older son had been grounded and that he was leaving Sylvain in the duke’s custody for a month or two. Felix was excited to have Sylvain staying in the castle but the other boy didn’t share Little Brother’s enthusiasm; Sylvain looked more like a prisoner than a guest with his miserable face.

But Glenn couldn’t ask more questions before Ingrid sprinted across the courtyard and grabbed his hand.

“Glenn, we’re getting married!” she said with a toothy grin.

“We?” mouthed Glenn quietly in confusion. He stood frozen in the middle of the courtyard with his heart in his throat. His mouth flapped like that of a goldfish and his eyes darted back and forth in search for answers. When he finally met the eyes of the duke, the father nodded to him with a proud smile. And Glenn remembered the words he’d spoken the night the prince’s letter was burnt: he’d offered to be Ingrid’s groom in Felix’s place.

Glenn drew in a deep breath. It was still early—if he opposed and broke off the betrothal _now_ , the damage to Ingrid and his own pride was minimal compared to breaking it off later when half of the Kingdom knew. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ingrid suddenly wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her head against his chest. And all that came out of Glenn was a strangled gasp as warmth rose to his cheeks. Ingrid then whispered to him, so quietly that only he could hear:

“I’m so happy it’s you, Glenn. I was so scared it would be an old man.”

He couldn’t do it. He kept his mouth shut throughout the entire ordeal and then locked himself away in his room out of shame and guilt. It wasn’t until he heard the sounds of weapons clattering that he finally looked out of his window to see Felix training with Sylvain in the courtyard. Knowing that Little Brother was preoccupied, Glenn finally unlocked his door and dragged his feet out of his bedroom. He made his way towards the duke’s study, where the father was presumably still reviewing bills and reports.

The door stood open and Duke Fraldarius sat behind his desk while putting ink on paper. The father briefly lifted his gaze when Glenn trotted into the study and sat down on the stool next to the large bookcase. He then sighed wearily and refilled his quill.

Ignored, Glenn craned his neck towards the desk to see what the father was writing, but a stack of books obscured his view. He stood up again and carefully paced over to the desk were a letter was laid out in plain view—a letter bearing King Lambert’s seal. And under it was a framed painting and torn wrapping paper. Curious, he slid the painting out from under the letter to have a look—Rodrigue Fraldarius wasn’t exactly known for being an appreciator of art.

It was an oil painting depicting green fields and two warriors riding side by side. One of them carried a partisan spear and was decked out in all blue clothing—this was clearly Loog, the King of Lions himself. The other rider, who carried a swan shield and dressed in green and white, had to be Kyphon by association, even though he looked nothing like how the legends described. Glenn breathed out a short scornful laugh.

“Who’s this little man supposed to be?” he asked, tapping his finger on the figure who supposedly was his ancestor. “Anyone who’s picked up a book knows Kyphon was raven-haired and tall. Painter must be either foreign or illiterate.”

The father signed and stamped his letter with his personal seal, lifting it aside for the ink to dry before addressing Glenn.

“Did you want to talk, Son?”

Glenn pursed his lips as any trace of levity vanished from his face. He carelessly tossed the painting on top of the king’s letter with a _bang!_

“You gave me away,” said Glenn, straightening his posture and staring his own father down.

His father blinked and raised one eyebrow. The left corner of his lips curved upwards in an expression of extreme bewilderment.

“How stupid _are_ you?” said Glenn, gradually raising his voice as a storm brewed inside his chest. Was the father truly this dense or was he playing dumb? “This might be the lesser evil of the two, but the lesser evil is _still_ evil!”

“I thought you _volunteered_ ,” said the duke, raising his hands above his shoulders, palms facing up.

“ _Did I?_ Or did you force me into a corner, _Duke Fraldarius_?”

The father stared at him in silence with a blank, emotionless expression.

“If you’re opposed,” said the duke calmly, but the serenity in his voice only further infuriated his son, “why didn’t you speak up in the courtyard?”

Glenn clenched his fists. He knew his own answer, but that didn’t excuse his father’s incompetence. The fact that the duke was trying to shift the blame only filled Glenn’s lungs with rage. He couldn’t breathe; he was drowning in anger and grief. Suddenly, he was eight years old again and standing before a parent with a heart of stone. Suddenly, he wasn’t Felix’s perfect big brother or a knight. He was Glenn, and _only_ Glenn.

“Because _you’re my parent_!” he shouted at Duke Fraldarius, and once those words left his mouth, warm tears began to sting his eyes and nose. Glenn could see discomfort in eyes that were as dark and as blue as his own, but that didn’t stop him from screaming in the father’s face.

“I _trusted_ you!” he said, heartbroken and hurt to the core. His voice shook, and his eyes were blurred with tears. Tears that he wasn’t allowed to shed or show as the big brother of Felix and the prince. But Felix and Prince Dimitri weren’t here, so Glenn didn’t need to pretend. _“Felix_ trusted you! You’re our _father_ and we’re your _children,_ old man! You’re supposed to _love and protect us_! Were we ever anything more than _just_ the sons of the duke to you?”

“Glenn!” said the father, standing up and raising his voice too. “You two mean the world to me! I—”

“You just _gifted me away_ in exchange for an alliance!”

“ _Glenn_ , I gave Valdemar my word! You have to—”

“ _So it’s about your own ego then?_ ” screeched Glenn. “You couldn’t even break a promise to save your son from your own mistake, _you old fool?_ ”

When the duke’s hand suddenly flew up in the air, ready to deal out an open-handed strike, Glenn withdrew his head between his shoulders and closed his eyes. But when the slap never came, he dared to look. Glenn drew in a deep breath and took a step towards his father dear. He raised his head with a challenging look in his eyes, yet his lips trembled while tears rolled down his cheeks.

His father’s hand trembled. And in the storm inside the duke’s eyes, Glenn saw rising seas. And unable to bear the pain and misery, he whirled around and stormed out of the study and returned to his room. There, he locked and barricaded the door before falling to his knees to weep alone.

* * *

Glenn didn’t go downstairs for dinner. He didn’t know how to face his father with the rest of the family present. He only came out of his room after sundown, hoping he could find something in the kitchen to eat. It wasn’t befitting the duke’s son to eat leftovers in his own castle, but Glenn didn’t care—he hadn’t eaten anything for the entire day and he was starving.

At the staircase, he suddenly heard a familiar voice groan and curse.

“Father?” said Glenn. He hurried downstairs on swift feet and lit the fireplace with a spell, which filled the great hall with warm light and revealed his father’s pitiful form lying at the bottom of the staircase.

The duke lay on his back with his clothes rumpled and his hair splayed out on the floor. He groaned and shielded his eyes from the light. Despite the darkness of his raven hair, Glenn saw the blood on his head.

“Father!” Glenn exclaimed, squatting and lifting the duke up to a sitting position. He touched the back of the father’s head, were the blood had started to dry. “What happened?”

When the father didn’t immediately answer, the son jumped to the worst conclusions.

“Were you attacked?” asked Glenn. “Are there intruders? _Assassins_? Father, _please_!”

“I tripped,” said the Duke Fraldarius finally. Despite his miserable state, he let out a sardonic laugh. “Although Felix shoved me to the floor defending your honour prior…” He blinked hard and then stood up, wobbling around on unsteady feet and then catching himself on the railing of the staircase.

“Don’t force yourself!” said Glenn. “You might have a concussion. Come here, old man.” He slid one of his arms across the father’s back to support and half-carry him away from the stairs.

“Heh… my son is all grown up,” whispered the duke. “Can’t deny my age anymore.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Glenn put his father down on a stool in front of the warm fireplace. He then fetched the box of medic supplies from the cupboard and wet a rag to clean the wound.

“Inga said something about her other option being an old man,” said Glenn, dabbing the wet cloth on his father’s head and removing the dirt and blood.

“Justinian Kleiman,” replied the father after a while. He lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Valdemar already turned him down for his age. Saints, that man is older than _me_.”

“Never heard of him.” Glenn retrieved bandages from the medic box to dress his father’s wound. “Don’t move so I can put this on.”

“He’s a minor lord in House Blaiddyd’s territory,” said the father, as Glenn started to roll the bandage around his head. “Doesn’t have much prestige, but he’s got some wealth thanks to his silver mine.”

“So he’s got nothing on me?”

“Haha,” laughed the father meekly, shaking his head. “That’s certainly true considering the amount of offers I’ve received asking for your hand in marriage.”

Glenn choked on his breath.

“Hold still, old man,” he said while heat rose to his cheeks. “Stop making it harder for me to help you.”


	13. Chapter 13

**O** nce Sylvain had told the unsettling story of Miklan shoving him down a well and leaving him to drown, Glenn saddled his horse and rode to the northern citadel. For there were two sides of a story, and Glenn wanted to know what Miklan had to say in his defence.

According to rumours, the incident occurred when the Brothers Gautier were out on an errand in a Srengish village. Some said Miklan had always hated his brother for stealing his place as the Gautier heir, and that he intentionally brought Sylvain out to murder him while making it look like an accident. It was a miracle that some farmers happened by and pulled the boy out of the well before he could drown. Others said Sylvain had tripped and fallen into the well and that Miklan had run around the village like a headless chicken, begging for help.

“ _Silva!_ _My brother!_ Please, save my brother, _please_ , _he can’t swim!_ ” had Miklan cried and wailed in the Srengish tongue, begging the villagers to rescue Sylvain. Yet, it took so long for help to arrive that the boy had fallen unconscious in the well and almost died.

Margrave Gautier didn’t want to believe that his firstborn child was a kinslayer, but he also couldn’t disbelieve the words of his other son. Miklan didn’t say anything in his own defence and merely confirmed his guilt when Sylvain told his tale. And so, two brothers that once loved each other parted ways: one was sent southward as a ward of Duke Fraldarius, and the other northward to keep vigil at the farmost watchtower in Gautier territory.

Miklan was in the armoury when Glenn came to the watchtower where the margrave had posted him. He was busying himself with weapon maintenance since his men shunned him for his misdeeds. He’d grown his hair out—red waves rolled past his shoulders, but his face hadn’t changed much since Glenn last saw him. Anyone could see it was Sylvain’s brother and the son of Margrave Gautier putting swords and spears up on the racks in the armoury.

“Glenn Fraldarius,” said Miklan, gripping the sword in his hand tightly. His hazel eyes greeted the raven-haired visitor in the doorway with disdain. “Why are you here?”

“I came here for answers,” replied Glenn unflinchingly, carefully approaching his old friend and stopping right out of the sword’s reach. “Did you save Sylvain from drowning in the well?”

A wry smile slowly drew up the corners of Miklan’s lips. He averted his eyes and breathed out a laugh.

“Yes,” he then whispered with difficulty, as if he had a noose around his throat.

“Did you push Sylvain—?”

“ _Yes_ ,” repeated Miklan—he didn’t even let Glenn finish the question. He quickly pointed his sword at Glenn, anger shining in his eyes as he continued: “There. You’ve got your answers. Now _get out of my sight_.”

Glenn drew in a deep breath and pushed the blade aside with the back of his hand.

“Because of his _Crest_?” he asked, as Miklan lowered the sword with a shaking hand. “Is the Gautier inheritance really so important to you that you’d betray everyone and everything you stood for?”

“What do _you_ know?” hissed Miklan. “You’ve _got_ a Crest. You’re the heir to the great House Fraldarius. What do _you_ know about being tossed aside like trash?”

Trash? _You_ started treating your brother and friends like trash after finding out Sylvain had a Crest, thought Glenn. You were merely punished for your actions, you selfish bastard, Glenn wanted to say. But he didn’t tell Miklan any of that. Instead, he said:

“My little brother is the heir to House Fraldarius now. I’m betrothed to Ingrid and will marry into House Galatea.”

Miklan squinted at him.

“I volunteered,” added Glenn, and the friend blinked and stared at him as if he’d grown two extra heads.

“ _Why?_ ” asked Miklan. “Are you out of your mind?”

“No, and because there are things more important than me.”

The friend directed his eyes towards the floor and rasped out a low, joyless laugh.

“Duty,” said Miklan dryly. “Always _duty_ …”

“ _My brothers_ ,” corrected Glenn.

“ _Hah!_ So you truly _are_ a Crest-bearing fool!”

“ _You_ taught me we older brothers should love and protect our little ones. And yet _you_ tried to murder—!”

“ _Shut your trap!_ ” hissed Miklan. “I didn’t try to murder him!” He froze as soon the words left his lips. “Not this time…” he then mumbled under his breath. He turned his back to Glenn and hung up the sword on a rack. “We had an argument,” he spoke softly. “I said some things that I can’t take back. He shoved me. I shoved back. He pushed me again. And I shoved him too hard and sent him into the well.” He paused and hung his head. “ _That’s_ what happened.”

“He didn’t know you went looking for help,” whispered Glenn. He then raised his voice and shouted at Miklan. “ _Why_ didn’t you tell him, you _idiot_?”

“What difference does it make?” asked Miklan bitterly. “Better if he just hates me outright! It’s not like I haven’t tried to kill him _before_.” He then lowered his voice and mumbled something for himself. “Silva…”

“What are you _on about_?”

“That knife collection the spoiled brat owns,” Miklan spoke clearly again and he whirled around, facing Glenn. “Each blade is a failed attempt and proof of my weakness.” He paused and inhaled deeply. Then, he whispered: “The Queen of Sreng once gave me a dagger and said she could give me his Crest… if I cut out his heart and put it in a box.”

“That’s a pile of _garbage_ and you _know_ it!” Glenn yelled at his old friend. If Miklan believed that for even a second, he was a bigger fool than he’d shown himself to be.

“Still, it made me realize that the only thing standing in my way is _him_ ,” replied Miklan, looking away and digging his nails into his palms. “So I tried. And tried. And _tried…_ ”

Remembering how Sylvain had proudly showed off all his brother’s gifts, Glenn breathed out a wry laugh. He couldn’t do it; like the leopard that could not change its spots, Miklan Gautier could not bring himself to kill his brother dear.

“ _Weakness_ ,” spat Miklan. “Nothing but weakness.”

Glenn sighed and shook his head, turning away from his old friend.

“If _that’s_ what you think weakness is,” he said, “then I have nothing more to say to you.” As he exited the armoury, he could hear Miklan shout:

“ _Be_ a foolish martyr, Fraldarius! We’ll see where your sacrifice will land you!”

“Goodbye, Miklan.”

* * *

The family travelled to Fhirdiad a couple of months later for Glenn’s knighting ceremony, and Prince Dimitri was overjoyed to hear that Felix was in the royal castle. The prince had barely taken off his training armour but he already made his way into the reading room, where Glenn and Ingrid sat on the comfy sofa and read _The Sword of_ _Kyphon_ together while Sylvain taught Felix how to play chess.

“ _Felix!_ ” shouted Prince Dimitri. He tried to give Felix a hug, but Little Brother jumped up from his chair, extending a palm towards the prince and stopping him in his tracks. Then, he took Prince Dimitri’s hand in a very rigid handshake and spoke with even stiffer words:

“Your Highness.”

“Felix?” said the prince. That crushed look in his eyes; if words could physically hurt, Glenn was certain that Felix just carved out Prince Dimitri’s heart. “It’s me, _Dima_ …” he said. “Don’t you recognize me?”

Sylvain carefully leant over the game table and briskly asked what was going on, while Glenn and Ingrid watched the scene in silence.

“We… are too old for childish nicknames,” said Felix as if he couldn’t breathe.

“You’re _eleven_ ,” said Sylvain, gesturing incredulously towards his friends.

“That’s one year older than ten,” hissed Felix.

The prince let out a choked up cry and then yanked at Felix’s arm, sending the boy tripping ahead and falling into his strong embrace.

“ _Hey!_ ” A voice called out from the hallway, but the children were so focused on the boys’ awkward reunion that they didn’t pay attention. Glenn, however, saw his own father and King Lambert staring from the entrance of the reading room. The father took a quick step forward, but the king solemnly threw a resolute hand up and stopped him. The two exchanged words in whispers; Duke Fraldarius looked concerned while King Lambert gestured calmly to his friend. Finally, the king gave Glenn an apologetic smile and then ushered the father away, leaving the children alone.

Glenn turned back to his brother and friends, and Prince Dimitri was still hugging Felix tightly; his left arm snaked around Felix’s narrow waist and his right hand wrapped around Little Brother’s shoulder and held him in place. Glenn heard sniffling, but he couldn’t tell which of the boys was crying—or both.

“Felix, I’ve missed you so much,” whispered the prince.

“Don’t you have a bunch of new friends to play with?” said Felix bitterly, white-knuckling his fists at his sides. His voice sounded harsh, although Glenn couldn’t tell whether it was anger or the prince physically restricting his breathing.

“I only want _you_ , Felix,” Prince Dimitri sobbed. “You’re my best friend. I missed you every day.”

Felix clenched his jaw tight. His fists loosened, and slowly, he raised his arms.

“I’ve… missed you too,” he finally said, crying as he returned the prince’s embrace. “Dima…”

Prince Dimitri laughed shakily and held Felix tighter still. As he finished crying and dried his tears, he pulled away with a smile and took Felix’s hand in his.

“Come,” he said, gently guiding Little Brother towards the doorway. “I’ve got a present for you.”

Felix smiled happily and wiped his own tears, nodding and letting the prince lead him out of the library without a word. Everyone was here for _Glenn’s_ knighting ceremony; yet, the prince didn’t even notice him or anyone else in the room. Glenn knew he should feel a bit jealous, but all he did was smile as his brothers’ shadows disappeared down the hallway.

He then looked to Sylvain, who gazed at his unfinished game with forlorn eyes. Sylvain had been a little brother all his life and always received his guardians’ full attention. Now he had to learn that a big brother not only had to love and protect the younger siblings, but also learn when to let go.

“Glenn?” said Ingrid.

Glenn smiled and handed Ingrid the book, petting her hair and telling her to read a bit alone. He then rose from the sofa and took Felix’s seat at the game table. Sylvain smiled meekly when Glenn moved one of the playing pieces. As the game continued, he quietly asked Sylvain if anything had been done about Miklan.

“You know… after I told your father about the knives and daggers?” said Glenn gently.

Sylvain averted his eyes and bit his lower lip. He lifted his right hand and rubbed his opposite arm.

“Father wrote that Miklan’s staying in the far north until further notice while I can come home if I want.”

Glenn sighed in relief.

“You reap what you sow,” he said.

“Thank you for telling the truth, Glenn.”

“It’s my duty, Sylvain—as his friend and yours.”

* * *

Glenn was all prettied up in ceremonial gear for the big day. His father had commissioned the outfit for the occasion: His viridian coat was littered with gold embroidery and trimming, and his fur-lined cape was as white as newfallen snow. His boots were up to his thighs, and his light grieves, single bracer and lone spaulder were coloured azure and heavily embellished with golden details. His hair had been trimmed too; cut high above his ears and his fringe parted in the middle to frame his face.

“You’re so pretty!” said Ingrid. “You look like a fairytale prince!”

Glenn laughed and scratched the back of his head, whereupon Ingrid threw her arms around him and demanded a hug, which Glenn happily gave her. He petted her hair and then looked to the breakfast table where Sylvain was chatting up a noble girl.

“Inga, where are Felix and the real prince?” whispered Glenn.

When Ingrid told him that neither had come down from their rooms yet, Glenn took it upon himself to rouse his two brothers lest they’d miss the ceremony. He headed over to the prince’s chambers in the east wing and judging from the chit-chat coming from the room, they were both awake.

“Ugh, stop staring at me,” whined Felix, to which Prince Dimitri responded with a loving laugh.

“I’ve missed you every night,” said the prince, his words barely audible through the wooden door.

“I missed you too, but stop being so _weird_!” complained Felix, clearly annoyed. “ _Come on_ , get off me already! I have to go back to my room and get dressed!”

“Mm, just a little longer…”

“ _Dima!_ _Last_ warning! We’re going to miss the knighting ceremony!”

“Hehe, what are you going to do? Wha— _no! Ah-hahahaha, no! Felix, nooooo—no tickling—!_ ”

There was a high pitched shriek. A loud thud. And then, a cry of pain. Glenn tore the door open to find Little Brother and the prince lying haphazardly on the floor: Felix was awkwardly propped up on his forearms and hands, and beneath him on the fur rug lay Prince Dimitri with a fist clenched around the front of Felix’s long shirt. Their hair was tousled and their nightshirts wrinkled, and they both stared at Glenn as if he was a ghost.

Felix gasped. He protectively threw his arms about the prince’s head and lowered his chin to the bend of his arm to completely obscure Prince Dimitri’s face. Then, realizing that he couldn’t possibly hide an entire person with his small frame, Little Brother scrambled to his feet and stumbled over to Glenn. He caught the older brother’s arm and gripped it tightly.

“Don’t tell Father!” said Felix, a desperate plea.

“Wh-what?” said Glenn with a confused smile, but Felix’s face grew paler each passing second while the pupils in his amber eyes shrank. “Felix? What’s wrong?” Glenn tried to touch Little Brother’s shoulder, but Felix hastily darted out of the room. “Hey, _where_ are you going?” Glenn shouted after him. “ _Felix!_ You haven’t even dressed yourself!”

“He isn’t supposed to sleep here anymore,” whispered Prince Dimitri gloomily, rising to his feet and dusting off his nightshirt. “We’re too old to share a bed now…”

Glenn gave Prince Dimitri an awkward laugh.

“I won’t tell anyone, Your Highness,” he said, ruffling the prince’s hair with his hand. He then exited the room, closing the door and returning to his breakfast downstairs.

When Felix and the prince had dressed themselves, they came down separately and seated on opposing sides of the table. Prince Dimitri sat down next to Ingrid and Felix stuck himself in a chair beside Sylvain, prompting the red-haired boy to nudge Felix with his elbow.

“Not glued together today?” said Sylvain with a playful smile. “Did you have a fight last night?”

“No!” Prince Dimitri immediately answered, blushing bright.

“Shut up!” said Felix with his face alight.

Glenn smirked as he watched the scene in silence and washed down his own urge to tease with a drink.

* * *

_The Goddess’s creed embraced all love, so theoretically everyone could marry whoever they wanted._

_Yet, to high nobles, such was the ideal and not the rule at all. For in reality noble marriage was a very, very political thing, and duty to one’s family and country far outweighed a passion that wouldn’t last._

_House Fraldarius, however, was an exception. For its members honoured the hero Fraldarius, from whom they claimed descent._

_She was the Swan Knight, she soared the skies on brilliant white wings! She was the Swan Knight, she lived and died for love!_

_Fraldarius! Fraldarius! Swan Knight fair!_

_Fraldarius! Fraldarius!_ _Let down your hair!_

_She lived her life as a man, so that her family would not be torn apart by blood feud. She chose the path of war, so that her younger sisters could lead peaceful lives. And she chose to die, so that her husband and children could live on…_


	14. Chapter 14

_Nearly all knights from House Fraldarius chose silver or white armour to match the graceful swans on their banners and shields._

_Glenn Fraldarius, however, wore all black. With his Levin Sword and trusty shield, he followed in his father’s footsteps as a crusader of justice and protector of the realm. His thirst for glory and direct ways of solving problems didn’t make him popular among rulers, but many a commoner admired his righteous mind and courageous heart, and they dubbed him the Black Swan._

_In the beginning of year 1176, he was inducted into the Royal Guard and on the summer that year, he would accompany the royal family to the Festival of Blooms in Duscur. And there, he would go down in a blaze of glory and become immortalized for his sacrifice._

_* * *_

_On golden field, two black horses salient back to back, on a black chief three Crests of Daphnel in gold._

So read the blazon of House Galatea’s coat of arms. So the black horses sprang on their hind legs on seventeen year old Glenn’s tabard.

“How do I look?” asked Glenn, twirling around in Castle Fraldarius’s courtyard under the evening sun. He’d just been back from visiting Ingrid and the coat was a gift from his future mother-in-law.

“ _Ugly_ ,” said Felix, honest to a fault. He sat on a bench and polished the heater shield that Glenn gave him two years ago. Jacques recently promoted him to squire, so he had to keep his own weapons properly maintained, too. “You’re in the Royal Guard,” said Felix. “You have to wear your black and blue uniform anyway.”

“Hah-ha, that’s true, but I promised my future in-laws I’d quit when I marry Inga,” said Glenn.

“That kinda puts a damper on your oath of serving the King until the end of your days,” said Felix as he continued removing rust from the edges of his shield. “Do you even love her?” he then muttered for himself.

“Inga?” said Glenn, laughing at the silly question. “Of course I love her.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” said Felix. “She’s all over you, but you’re not even excited when she’s around.”

“ _Well_ ,” replied Glenn with a smug smile, “everyone barely look like friends compared to you and your precious Dima.” His grin vanished when Felix threw a vinegar-drenched rag in his face. Glenn scowled and then tossed it back to his brother.

“You said we were going to be royal knights together,” said Little Brother, “but now you want to quit as soon you’d had your fill of fame.”

And it was then Glenn realized that perhaps he’d been too successful in being a shining example for his little brother.

“Felix… You don’t _have_ to join the Royal Guard,” said Glenn, sitting down next to his brother on the bench.

Little Brother looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“You think I can’t do it? You think I’m weak—”

“ _No,_ Felix, _listen_. You’re not me; you don’t have to do everything I do. _If_ you join the Royal Guard, do it because you _want_ to—not because I did it first.”

Felix pressed his lips tightly together and looked away sideways.

“But you’re my big brother _._ Father says I should follow your example—”

“The world needs both of us, not two of me,” said Glenn. “You’re Felix Hugo Fraldarius, don’t let anyone change that.”

Felix’s lips parted slightly and the look in his gaze softened. Then, his eyes narrowed in determination.

“I still want to join the Royal Guard and protect Dimitri,” said Felix. “Even if you quit.”

Glenn smiled.

“If that’s what you truly want, then go for it,” he said. “But know that Royal Guard isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. There’s nowhere to rise once you’re there—you’re a glorified bodyguard, taking orders from senile old knights who should’ve retired decades ago. You’ll probably die of old age before you reach the top. But then…” Glenn grinned and nudged Felix with his elbow. “I’m sure your Dima won’t leave you unfulfilled, _Prince Felix_.”

Felix let out a strangled noise and then shoved his laughing brother in irritation.

“Don’t let Father hear that, you fool!” hissed Felix.

Glenn rolled his eyes.

“Ugh… You just _have_ to bring up our old man, don’t you?” he groaned, throwing his hands up in the air. The duke was still monitoring Felix and the prince’s activities whenever they were brought together. Goddess, he was almost as obsessive as Lady Cornelia!

“What did he do _now_?” asked Felix, sighing deeply. He was probably tired of listening to Glenn’s complaints about his duties and the dumb nobles at the Royal Court.

“Well, he was being an incorrigible yes-man as usual.” Glenn sighed. He knew the father wasn’t an outstanding advisor or governor, but he couldn’t believe what he witnessed in the last council meeting.

“ _Glenn_ ,” warned Felix. “He’s in the keep.”

“Do you know what he did in the council?” Glenn ignored the warning and continued to rant, standing up and starting to pace back and forth in front of the bench. “He _approved_ the damn trip to Duscur!”

“What’s wrong with Duscur?” said Felix, glaring at him with judging eyes.

Glenn slammed an open hand against his forehead.

“It’s about the situation in _Blaiddyd territory_. A bunch of clowns are stirring up a peasant rebellion at Faolain River. It’s such a bad look for the king to leave right now; half the council was practically _begging_ our father to talk some sense into his kingly brother. But no! The old man, in his _infinite wisdom_ , volunteered to take care of the rebels so that the king can go on a leisure trip!”

“ _Oh!_ So _that’s_ why Jacques said we’re heading to Fhridiad next week?”

“Probably,” muttered Glenn, shaking his head. “It’s unbelievable! If the old man only said no, the council would be in disfavour and the king would have to reconsider! But no! I have to parade myself _all the way_ to Duscur because _that woman_ wanted to see some flowers! _Pshaw!_ ”

He spat on the ground and then sat back down on the bench, letting out a deep sigh. Hopefully Little Brother would do a far better job in their father’s place. He gazed at Felix, who had resumed his task of scrubbing his shield. Little Brother trained and studied so diligently that he _still_ hadn’t figured out he was Duke Fraldarius’s heir, despite Glenn just flaunting his _matrilineal_ betrothal in his face.

Glenn looked down at the black horses on his yellow tabard. At first, he only wanted to rescue Ingrid from being married off to some crooked old man, but he’d come to see a bright future at Inga’s side, supporting her as her husband and knight. Yet, guilt gnawed at his heart; was his choice of giving the Aegis Shield to Felix the right one? Glenn kept telling himself that Little Brother would be happy at Prince Dimitri’s side, but he still couldn’t pretend that he didn’t partially do this for himself; he didn’t want to rule, so he passed his responsibilities to his little brother.

“Felix,” said Glenn, slowly and carefully, “do you love His Highness?”

“Wh-what?” spluttered Felix. He stopped polishing his shield and gave Glenn an annoyed look, but the older brother didn’t smile—he wasn’t teasing this time.

“Do you love Dimitri?” Glenn repeated the question. He had to know; for his own peace of mind. “Would you like to spend the rest of your life at His Highness’s side as Duke Fraldarius?”


	15. Chapter 15

_The cold rain pours, the warbows sing_

_A storm of arrows soar in the wind_

* * *

Glenn Fraldarius stood frozen behind an overturned carriage with the prince held tightly in his arms. Cries of pain and panicked screams filled the air. Many had already fallen to the rain of arrows and fire, and more had been trampled by the spooked animals in the caravan. And even more would die attempting to rescue those trapped inside the burning carriages and tents while the mysterious assassins continued their assault.

Glenn struggled against the nausea rising in his throat. He’d fought his fair share of battles and he was no craven by any means. But on that evening on the fields of Duscur, he finally understood what Lady Cornelia meant when she called King Lambert a beast.

The king was a one-man army; a force of nature, perhaps. A dozen corpses had piled up at King Lambert’s feet; many decapitated, dismembered, or worse. He crushed any enemy who came near him with his hands alone—anyone foolish enough to try attacking him or Lady Patricia’s carriage.

“ _Your Majesty!_ ” shouted a couple of knights rallying to their liege. And then, the unforgivable happened.

Glenn gasped as one of the knights engulfed King Lambert’s head with flames.

“ _Father!_ ” cried the prince, when the other ran the king through with his blade.

King Lambert screamed and punched a hole in the first traitor’s chest, and when the other betrayer pulled back his blade, Glenn brandished his Levin Sword and struck him down with a lightning bolt.

Glenn gasped for air. His heart beat like a drum as he stumbled over the bodies on the ground towards his uncle dear. So many dead: enemies, nobles, knights; men, women, children; old, young and everything else in-between…

Suddenly, a force collided against the back of Glenn’s helmet and threw him off balance. Dazed, he only heard a garbled cry and bones snapping. When his head had stopped ringing, he looked into Prince Dimitri’s terrified eyes. The knave who attacked him lay lifeless on the ground and the prince’s hands were stained with blood.

“ _GO!_ ” roared King Lambert when he saw Glenn and the prince approach. “ _Save yourselves!”_ He spluttered blood as his eyes focused on Glenn. _“Save yourselves and avenge us! Those who killed us… Tear them apart! Destroy them all!”_

Glenn Fraldarius didn’t think. He grabbed the shell-shocked prince and ran, escaping the inferno with the king’s final words still echoing in his ears.

* * *

_To battle they rode, king and knight_

* * *

They rode so fast that the road was smoking, yet, Glenn demanded that the prince rode faster still.

He told the prince to not look back. To keep riding until he reached Avalon Hill.

“I’ll be right behind you!” he promised. “We must escape, Dimitri! Don’t stop until you’re out of the woods!”

And the prince, he rode on. He rode as fast as he could on that poor steed.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t look back. He didn’t realize Glenn had lied to him until he reached the side of other woods.

* * *

_Loog and Kyphon, two sworn friends_

_Two rode to battle, one returned_

* * *

And there he stood—Glenn Fraldarius, his Levin Sword unsheathed as he faced overwhelming numbers outside the woods.

For as much as Glenn loved fame and glory, he loved his brothers more.

Gently, he caressed the flat of the sword and let the arcane crystals on the guard burn. Wordlessly, he raised the blade skywards and cast his final spell.


	16. Chapter 16

Lightning flashed.

Thunder roared.

Raindrops shattered against armour and steel.

“ _Search!_ ” Loog ordered his men as tears filled his eyes and mingled in the rain. “Find him! _Find Pan_!”

Erwann was dead; his cold body lay right in front of him here on the Tailtean Plains. Loog had just lost his brother, he couldn’t lose Pan too.

Suddenly, a golden light shone in the muddy fields ahead and Loog clenched his partisan in his fist. His heart sang and his chest felt too tight. He knew that magic too well and he immediately sprinted towards the light.

“Pan!” shouted Loog, but his beloved did not respond. “ _Pan!_ ” Loog cried, as a group of Imperial soldiers ran past him, armless and fleeing in fear.

But even though Loog paid them no heed, they could not escape the light that stalked them through the rain. It caught them in a circle of magic and it scorched and burnt away their flesh.

And there he stood—Pan, among ashes and bones, his dirt-brown hair plastered on his face and his eyes a vacant stare. Erwann’s sword sang a single note in his hand, and he dropped to his knees on the mud with a splash.

“Pan!” said Loog, reaching out for his lover and dearest friend.

Pan saw him, yet he did not. His lips parted in an uncomfortable smile, and then he cackled, low and cold.

“Erwann… _Brother_ ,” he said, raising his head towards the thundering skies. “I won’t run. I won’t break. I’ll bring you the Emperor’s head if it’s the last thing I do.”

* * *

_So it was decided_

_So the die was cast_

_Dearest little brother_

_Pan, you must be…_

_…stronger than all others_

_Stronger than me_


End file.
